Through Diamond Eyes
by GraceLilly
Summary: Arthur is dead, but there is one last thing Merlin can do to save him. Alternative ending to The Diamond of the Day Pt. 2.
1. A Life of a Dragon

This is a quiet story. Nothing too epic, shocking or mind-blowing - just our favourite duo on their journey from Avalon to Camelot, talking, walking and... being alive.

The title is taken from the song Diamond Eyes by Shinedown.

Special thanks to my beta reader **wryter501** for correcting my mistakes, providing me with helpful advice and for giving the story a more decent form.

Ten chapters, regular updates.

Warning: blood.

* * *

Chapter 1 - A Life of a Dragon

It was a new day. The sun that just rose over the horizon was throwing shadows of light on the meadow, and the air was wet with morning dew and the smell of the lake. Nature was living its own life - indifferent to the events that were shaking the foundation of the kingdom and changing the destiny of its citizens for many following generations – except for the birds that refused to sing, hiding humbly in the branches and taking the role of silent witnesses of moments, that would soon be deeply engraved in the history of Camelot.

The Great Dragon knew that his own destiny was as firmly interlaced with King Arthur as it was with Merlin. However, there was a twist, an unexpected, yet welcomed change in its course. The golden age of Albion was nearing and it was a rule old as the mankind itself that when something new was about to start, another part had to end its journey.

He watched Merlin trying to drag Arthur towards the Lake. He saw the enormous pain that threatened to implode his friend's heart. The warlock was already at the very edge of his capacity, both emotionally and physically. Exhaustion was visible on his features and Kilgarrah knew that what he was about to ask him would add salt in his wounds.

Arthur was dead, but Merlin's task wasn't over yet.

"There is but one thing you can do, young warlock," Kilgharrah said with a warm, yet tired voice.

"Anything," Merlin gasped, still holding the dead weight of his friend in his arms. His muscles were trembling with the effort and his breath was short with strain. Hopelessness was carving a hole through his chest.

"I cannot heal the King," the creature said with humility and sadness that was so unusual to his character, "however, what I can do is heal you."

Merlin blinked a few times, not fully understanding the Dragon's words. He slowly lowered Arthur on the grass and stepped in front of Kilgarrah.

"How-" he swallowed the word. He knew, if there was any chance to take Arthur's wounds on himself, he would have already done it earlier. There had been situations desperate enough to make him try such thing. However, neither Gaius nor Kilgharrah ever made such suggestion and Merlin himself never truly dared to think it could be possible.

Kilgarrah rose his head before he spoke again. "The price is high. A life has to be sacrificed and you will need a powerful magic that no man is capable of."

Riddles. That was the first word that came on Merlin's mind. "Tell me what I need to do. If it's my life you ask, you already know my answer," he said, with determination and strength that surprised even himself.

"A life of a dragon."

Merlin swallowed hard, expecting Kilgarrah to correct his words, to explain.

"I am tired, Merlin," the dragon breathed out. "It is known, that a dragon can heal his master from mortal wounds afflicted by dark magic."

Merlin's face reflected his inner confusion. "Heal?" his voice broke.

"After you take Arthur's wound upon yourself," Kilgarrah confirmed.

"You... can't die," Merlin begged, but then stopped himself. He remembered the moment on the meadow when Kilgarrah's left wing was lying at his side, weak and broken. And it wasn't just that. Kilgarrah moved slower, his breath was hardly as strong and deep and even his voice sounded weaker every time they met. These were the signs Merlin refused to see, but he knew they have been present for some time.

"Your king is dead," the Dragon spoke slowly, reasonably, "I owe you, Merlin, for setting me free from the dungeons. And I owe Arthur and the whole of Camelot for the lives I took afterwards. Let me repay that to you."

Merlin's eyes were suddenly filled with tears, his breath stuck in his throat. He couldn't speak through the sob that threatened to burst from his lungs.

"I beg you, Merlin," Kilgarrah urged on.

Merlin shook his head and whipped away the tears from his cheeks. "I need you with me. I will need you for the times to come, more than ever," he said strongly and clearly, trying to bring some sense into the creature, to explain that there was no place for such scenario in his mind. "I will take Arthur's wound on myself, but I won't let you-"

"Then, there will be no reason to heal Arthur, for he alone cannot unite Albion. The future is already written, Merlin. And it does not speak about an old dragon."

Merlin looked at Kilgharrah, almost paralyzed by his suggestion.

"Find Aithusa. It is not too late for her. One day she will serve you well."

Merlin shook his head again as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. He stood there for a moment, staring in the vivid green under his feet, then looked at Arthur's dead body a few steps away from him. He needed more time to think. He felt himself between huge stones that pressed his chest from both sides and no matter what choice he made, he knew that there was no way he would escape without losing something vitally important.

"How-," he said, stopping in the middle of the sentence. He had no idea what to ask. How do you die? Do I need to kill you? With Arthur's sword?

"No dragon can be brought to this world without the call of a Dragon Lord and no dragon shall leave without his permission. You must order me, young warlock," the Dragon said plainly, lowering his head on his front paws.

Merlin stepped away, refusing to meet his eyes, subduing another sob that shook within his body. He was going to order Kilgharrah to die. The realization disgusted him. He felt he would be misusing his power to kill a beautiful creature and a friend who saved his life so many times.

"I don't want you to die," Merlin pleaded, finally looking in Kilgarrah's eyes.

"Death can not be avoided, Merlin."

"It doesn't have to be _today_."

"Today is as good day as any. I can not avoid dying and you can not avoid your duty as a dragon lord. Will you do it tomorrow?"

Merlin was silent. Of course he wouldn't do it tomorrow, nor the day after or in ten years time. How could he?

"I will never truly leave you, young warlock," the Dragon's voice softened, "you have to be strong and let me go. For the sake of Albion."

Merlin couldn't move. His heart was heavy with everything he'd been through and he thought it would take only a little push to break him completely. He couldn't imagine how he was supposed to survive Kilgharrah's passing.

"I want this, Merlin. It is my last wish. Please, help me."

Merlin felt one tear after another sliding down his cheeks. He took a few steps forward and raised his arm to touch Kilgharrah's nose. His skin was rough like a thick bark of an old tree. The dragon smiled, warmly but shortly, closing his eyes and gently pushing his head against Merlin's palm. His breath sounded like a hundred running horses, wild and fast, chasing the hair on the warlock's forehead. Merlin lost himself in the moment.

"There is not much time left," Kilgharrah urged on, "you must act quickly or the life of the king will be lost forever."

Merlin's mouth opened as he gazed into Kilgharrah's eyes, trying to remember what was there - the wisdom and gratitude, but also the pain and guilt. He needed more time to say goodbye. Kilgharrah deserved a better departure from this world and Merlin was almost sure he could stand there forever, absorbing his presence and trying to memorize the little details...

"Thank you," Merlin whispered. "For everything."

The dragon blinked slowly. "It has been my honour, young warlock. After I die, take Arthur's sword and pierce my heart. My blood will help you heal. You must not let it off of your wound until you are healed completely. Remember that."

Merlin pressed his lips tightly together. Kilgarrah was so calm and self-composed, and Merlin wished he would find such peace in himself as well.

"I will give you an enchantment now. When the time comes, place your hands on Arthur's side and let your magic flow in the wound. Kneel."

Merlin sank on the ground, refusing to let go of his friend, hoping to remember each of his words and deeds. A golden mist floated from Kilgharrah's nostrils and eyes and clung to Merlin, but the warlock felt nothing, not even a chill.

"Be brave, my friend."

Merlin nodded in resignation. He got up and once again reached his hands towards Kilgharrah. The pain in his chest subsided and he somehow found the strength to breathe again.

"I will make sure Camelot remembers your sacrifice."

"I couldn't ask for more. It is my time. Goodbye, young warlock."

"Goodbye, Kilgharrah," Merlin whispered after a short hesitation. He pulled his hands away from the dragon's nose and took a step back.

Kilgharrah lowered his head to his paws as Merlin spoke the words of the ancient language. The Dragon released a long breath as if he was freed from the weight of thousands of years. His eyes slowly closed, giving Merlin a last grateful look, almost as if he couldn't imagine a better way how to end his life. Then his body went calm. And when Merlin thought it was over, there was one more breath, small and weak and shy, like the first breeze at the beginning of spring. Then Kilgharrah moved no more.

It was quiet.

Merlin took a step forward, his hand reaching towards the dragon in a weak attempt to conserve the moment stopped in the air, but time was ticking. He had to be precise and self-composed.

He quickly wiped away the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve and went to Arthur's body. He picked up the sword, his moves mechanical, almost lifeless. The sword felt heavy in his hand as he made his way back to Kilgharrah's body. He pointed the tip on the place he knew the dragon's heart was, purely by instinct, and pushed hard, hoping that the sword wouldn't be too short to penetrate the thick skin and reach his heart. The sword slid in like a sharp knife through tender flesh and when Merlin pulled it out, blood started to flow in a strong stream down the skin into the earth.

Merlin untied his neckerchief and held it on the wound until the red fabric turned dark with blood and then closed the wound with a silent whisper.

He didn't remember how he got to Arthur again, but suddenly he found himself kneeling over his body, trying to remove the armor and get straight to the wound. It looked horrible when he finally rid Arthur of his chainmail, revealing the bloodied tunic and then gaping hole itself. Without hesitation, he placed both of his hands on Arthur's ribs, one over the other and closed his eyes.

Words of magic formed in his head, words he was sure he'd never heard before. His hands felt embraced by warm strings, providing him a strange but comforting feeling. His head was spinning and his arms started to tremble with the force of magic that flashed through his whole being.

Merlin hissed in surprise when Arthur's chest suddenly moved under his hands. It made him smile in relief. He wanted to look and make sure that Arthur was truly alive, but something was holding his eyes tightly closed. He knew he wouldn't be able to take his hands off of his friend now, even if he wanted to. It must have been a part of the enchantment that kept him from failing his task and he was grateful that it was so, feeling the first tender touch on his own ribs right on the place where Arthur's wound was.

At first it was nothing more than a slight pressure, as if Gaius prodded his ribs to test if any were broken. A sudden surge of fear reverberated through him as something snapped inside his chest. It didn't hurt, at least not yet. But it didn't matter.

Arthur was alive.


	2. First Breath

Chapter 2 - First Breath

Arthur came to himself feeling something strange in his chest. It was wrong, and deep inside he knew he should be dead. He was barely breathing but air entered his lungs, and even though the pauses between each shallow breath were unnaturally long, he wasn't suffocating. It felt as if his body didn't need the air yet. He wondered whether it was because he couldn't hear his heartbeat.

Anyway, it felt wrong. Everything felt completely wrong.

He opened his eyes, hazy and languorous, his vision blurred. His servant was leaning over him, kneeling at his right side, eyes closed, lips pressed together, face strained with deep focus and both of his hands placed on Arthur's hurting ribs.

"Merlin," Arthur said. His voice surprised him with its weakness. He couldn't hear the sound of the forest and his word came back as a distant echo. His own body seemed strange to him as if his soul was crammed into a smaller shell, old and weak, binding the parts of him that were once free and strong.

"Merlin," he tried again, but nothing suggested that the warlock noticed he was awake. It felt like a second ago when he said his goodbye to him. It might as well be a dream.

Arthur brought his weak hands to Merlin's and tried to move them, but he didn't manage. Merlin was as still as a statue.

It didn't make any sense. The word 'wrong' was replaying in his head again and again.

He felt like a beetle lying on his back. He couldn't do much from his position except for turn his head from side to side. That was when he noticed a strange spot on Merlin's tunic. It was dark, about a size of a coin, irregular and growing, soaking the tunic with blood in the same place as Arthur's own wound.

He knew what was happening, and the realization seemed to bring the breath of life back into his body. A loud gasp escaped his throat and his lungs convulsed with the sudden need for air, as he was becoming fully awake now. He could clearly see drops of sweat appearing on Merlin's forehead, and for a moment he felt overwhelmed as all his senses came back with a considerable force. The sun was too bright for his eyes, the sounds around him bore into his ears. The air forced its way through his lungs, urging his heart to beat faster and faster until it was almost painful.

He knew he had to make Merlin stop. He grabbed Merlin's wrists and pulled.

"Stop it-" he said, when he realised Merlin's hands didn't make the slightest shift. They were wet with blood.

"Merlin! God, stop-!"

He pulled his servant's hands again, groaning with the effort, but neither of them moved. It felt like he was held still by the earth itself rather than by Merlin's hands.

"Please! I don't want this-," he begged. His words fused into a row of pleas and shouts of his servant's name. He was becoming desperate. After all this he was supposed to watch Merlin die?

After a few more useless exhausting attempts Arthur breathed out, more in resignation than relief. At that moment, when he stopped thrashing and trying to roll over, he had the chance to realise that Merlin's hands were cold and shaking and his whole body was bending forward, slowly sinking to the ground. His shoulders were visibly stiff, as if they were tired of holding his head up.

Arthur has never felt more helpless in his life.

"Merlin... listen to me," he almost choked on the words. His body felt fuller of life every moment, but his heart was clenched with sorrow and anger. He groaned in desperation, and once again pulled on Merlin's hands that clung so firmly to his wounded chest.

But he couldn't tell if he was wounded anymore. There was nothing hurting under Merlin's hands. There was just energy, that felt so strange and almost unnatural to him, and the consuming fear of losing his friend.

Arthur wished Merlin would open his eyes, at least give him the opportunity to face him. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and landing on Arthur's chest. For a moment Arthur thought he should press his hands on Merlin's side to stop the blood flow, but he was in a bad position to do that effectively, and decided instead to hold Merlin's hands and shake them off as soon as Merlin got weak enough to let go.

Weak enough. How bitter it sounded in his mind.

He waited for what seemed an eternity. Drop by drop, one breath after another. He was holding back his own tears. He felt trapped.

When Merlin's hands finally released him, the warlock gave out a moan. Time slowed down as Merlin turned his head towards Arthur, exhaustion apparent in every part of his body, heavy eye-lids and shallow breaths. His movements were unnatural, like a doll hanging on strings. Satisfied with seeing Arthur alive, his lips rose in a weak smile; he sat on his heels and lightly pressed his hands to his own bleeding side.

Arthur didn't hesitate. Before Merlin could hit the ground, he embraced him from behind, placed his hands over Merlin's and held him firmly, as if he was trying to put the pieces of his whole world back together. He did it so quickly and with such tenderness that Merlin didn't have any chance to react.

"You stupid idiot," he hissed in Merlin's ear, as he curled up in his arms, shaking with slowly escalating pain, "stupid, stupid idiot. What have you done."

Arthur made the anger he felt clear in his words. He's never been so furious with Merlin before. Not even the revelation of Merlin's magic could make his blood boil with more verve than the fact that Merlin decided to trade his life for Arthur's.

"What have you done to yourself," he whispered, tightening his grip on the wound, not able to distinguish whether it was him or Merlin shaking so much.

"Had to-," Merlin finally said. And Arthur couldn't help feeling a hint of joy at hearing his voice again.

"You had at least two days off. For the first time in my service you didn't have to do anything," he emphasized the last words.

"-Hurts," Merlin gasped, his body restless and tense. Arthur was doing his best to hold Merlin together as if he was afraid the tremors would tear him apart. When Mordred's blade pierced his side, it was after the battle, when excitement was still filling his veins and numbing most of the pain of his injuries. However, Merlin wasn't given the same bittersweet reward the battle provided the warriors and Arthur decided that was a horrible injustice. No man, and certainly not someone as fragile as Merlin, deserved to be put through such an ordeal.

"What were you thinking," he said, his own voice low and deep with compassion. There was a hole in Merlin's chest that had practically killed Arthur. And now Merlin was dying because he was too stubborn to let him go. "If it hurts," Arthur said, "maybe you will remember not to do such a stupid thing again."

"-Kerchief," Merlin forced out of his mouth, trying to make the word understandable. He wished his breath would obey him, though.

Arthur raised his head properly for the first time since he woke up and immediately noticed Merlin's neckerchief, soaked with blood, lying at his feet next to his own bloody sword and armor. There was also an unmoving dragon a few steps away from them. Merlin felt Arthur's arms loosening momentarily around him before his grip tightened again.

Merlin tried to reach his hand towards his neckerchief to suggest what needed to be done. He feared he would lose consciousness before he would get the chance to explain, but the king seemed to understand and grabbed the neckerchief in his hand.

"Do not tell me you managed to slay a dragon without me," Arthur said jokingly. He was completely stunned. He felt as if he would go mad if he couldn't bring a bit of humour into their situation.

"Please-," Merlin only managed to breathe out. He was getting weaker, even the shakes were losing their power. Impatient, he took Arthur's hand that was holding the piece of fabric, quite roughly, and brought it to his wound. "There-."

Arthur never understood the means of magic, but it was clear to him that there must be magic at work. He wanted to believe that Merlin found a way to survive.

He lifted Merlin's tunic and pressed his neckerchief on the wound. He couldn't see it clearly through the blood, but the makeshift bandage was large enough to cover it.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," Arthur said when he embraced Merlin once again and put both of his hands over the wound. They stayed like that for several minutes. Arthur didn't want to move Merlin even when he calmed down and seemed to have found some peace. But at the same time, he wanted to leave the meadow as soon as possible. It had nothing to do with logic and reason, but he didn't feel safe there. And the dead body of a dragon, which reminded him strongly of the dragon he killed many years ago, didn't add much to his comfort.

He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. He was filled with joy from reuniting with Merlin, and confusion from seeing the dragon, a creature that should no longer exist. Merlin had truly a lot to explain. But the importance of these questions was overshadowed by his own death. That changed everything and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to see the world around him the same.

Merlin suddenly moved in his arms and Arthur carefully brushed away the hair from his forehead, trying to see whether Merlin had woken up or just shifted in his sleep.

The first was true. Merlin's eyes were unfocused at first and it seemed as if he wasn't sure what he should expect to see, but after a moment his gaze caught Arthur's face.

"Hey," Arthur whispered and wiped away the tears that rolled down Merlin's temples. His eyes held a promise of explanation, but Arthur knew that there will be enough time for that later.

"Don't talk," he ordered.

Merlin tried to say something, stubborn as always, but in the end he let out something between Arthur's name and a moan.

"We should leave," Arthur suggested, waiting for Merlin's agreement. He was done with this place, but he wasn't sure whether Merlin felt the same. His head rolled on his side towards the dead creature and his lips moved slightly, whispering almost inaudibly. Arthur didn't hear the words, but he didn't need any explanation to understand that the death of the dragon hurt Merlin somehow more than the wound in his side.

After a moment the servant nodded slowly. Arthur took him in his arms and headed to the shadow of the forest. They had a long journey ahead, but Arthur knew that whatever awaited them was nothing in comparison to what they'd been through in the past three days.

Behind them, the body of the Great Dragon disappeared in a mist that emerged from the Lake. The dust surged from the ground as the wind from Avalon hit the bank, making the leaves on the trees shake with a silent whisper.

 _"Take care, young warlock."_


	3. Peace and Quiet

Chapter 3 - Peace and Quiet

The forest was deserted. Arthur couldn't see even a bird in the branches. Everything was quiet, except for the breaking twigs that he managed to step onto. Merlin was in a deep sleep in his arms; no move and no rustle could disturb him.

He held his course toward Camelot, his mind blank. Every time he tried to recall the events of the past three days, the thoughts were immediately chased away, as if he was trying to catch a fish with his bare hands.

The natural sound of the woods served as a healing bandage on his mind, though he wasn't used to feeling that kind of emptiness and at first, he was angry that he couldn't set his thoughts straight. It was strange not to think about anything, to have that constant flow of ideas, assumptions, and images interrupted, and to allow his mind to be completely quiet, occupied by nothing but his basic instincts.

After some time of walking, Arthur knelt down on the path to relieve his legs and arms a bit, careful not to wake Merlin up. He stayed like that for a couple of minutes, his servant still in his lap, breathing deeply and looking around for signs that would help him to find a source of water. A few feet in front of him he saw little movements in a shrubbery with green more vivid than the rest of the forest. For a moment he thought he glimpsed a person between the branches, but once he focused on the place more thoroughly, he recognized it was just a trunk of a tree shaped similar to a human figure.

When he finally found the brook, he lay Merlin down onto a thick layer of leaves in the shadow of a birch. He washed his hands in the crystal clear water, soaked his head and neck and drank until he couldn't breathe. Then, he cleaned Merlin's hands also and tried to get some water in his mouth using a piece of his tunic, but the servant only coughed in his sleep, clearly disturbed by Arthur's actions.

He sat back, sighing. Their horses were gone, along with their supplies, food and blankets. They had at least three, maybe four days journey ahead, depending on Merlin's condition and his ability to walk. Not to mention bandits and mercenaries who usually occupied the bordering parts of the kingdom and who were now probably scouring the forest in search for whatever the retreating Saxon army left behind.

He looked at Merlin's motionless form. It was a miracle, and that was all that mattered. They were alive.

...

Merlin woke up at a low humming sound, like the last echo of a thunder or a howling wind of a winter storm. Except the sound was periodical, beating in his mind with precision like drums before an execution. Merlin wondered if it was his heart beating so fast, but something was telling him this subtle sound came from somewhere outside his body.

He turned his head and opened his eyes just slightly. Through the tears, he couldn't see more than Arthur's blurry face leaning over him. He felt dizzy, his stomach was turning around and every part of his body pulsed with dull pain. Something imprisoned him in the half-conscious state just before fainting, and he couldn't get over the edge no matter how much he wished. Maybe it was the indistinct feeling of urgency in the back of his head that kept him from losing consciousness again.

A wet cloth was put over his brow, awakening his senses a bit. He felt drops of water sliding down his throat from a cloth pressed to his lips. He tried to call Arthur's name, but all that left his mouth was a weak whimper.

"Shh, you've got a fever," a soothing voice reached through the buzzing in his ears. It sounded so calm and self-composed, that Merlin believed it was actually Gaius who was sitting next to him, cleaning his face and holding his shoulder in a reassuring grip. He wanted to ask where they were, but the only ability he seemed to possess was rolling his head from side to side. He groaned in anger. He was too tired and hurting to wake up properly, but not enough to fall unconscious. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he begged his body to have mercy and let him dream.

...

The second time he woke, he found himself lying next to a stream, the unmistakable sound of water filling his ears, melding with his heartbeat and the distant twittering of birds. His nose was filled with the scent of earth and his legs were warmed by the beams of sun that found their way through the crowns of the trees overhead.

Somebody knelt at Merlin's left side, adjusting his tunic. He slowly opened his eyes only to see Arthur studying him with concern.

"-lin?"

Merlin swallowed hard, confused. He had a bad taste in his mouth and for a second he couldn't figure out why his limbs were trembling so much. He didn't feel like himself at all. He reached a weak hand towards Arthur, holding his breath and half-expecting the image in front of him to disappear like a reflection on a surface.

"Merlin?" Arthur gave him a suspicious look, gently pulling the hand down to the ground again.

The warlock finally seemed to come to himself, looking at Arthur with half-closed eyes, frowning.

"Everything's green-" he whispered.

Arthur swallowed hard, staring at his servant in disbelief. "You're in the woods," he explained after a short silence, trying to cover the shocked expression that must have appeared on his face.

"Not that... green, everything...," his tongue was not obeying him and he twitched in desperation. If only he knew what he was trying to say. Talking felt at least as difficult as running in a dream.

"You've got a bit of temperature," Arthur said with authority, once again reminding Merlin of Gaius. He put a fresh cloth over Merlin's brow which seemed to calm him down a bit. He took a few steady breaths, feeling the skin on his stomach stretching with dried blood.

"My legs hurt," Merlin stated simply, lowering his right hand to the ground to figure out why his world was spinning. He felt vibrations under his fingers like they were coming from somewhere deep inside the ground with the never-ending sound of drums.

"I carried you." Arthur smiled, honestly surprised at how strong Merlin's voice suddenly sounded.

"I've been dreaming," the warlock explained slowly, "of walking." He reached towards his side with his left hand, pressing lightly on the wound, as if he wanted to check if it was still there. Despite the tremors of the earth, he felt calm and peaceful, like the silent woods around. The wound was numb, almost painless, but the pulsing inside proved that the healing wasn't finished yet.

Arthur soaked strips of his own tunic in the water of the brook and lifted Merlin's tunic, but the warlock stopped him before he could touch the neckerchief.

"It has to stay on the wound, until it heals," Merlin explained slowly, his voice echoing in his head as if he dreamed. His vision blurred for a moment.

Arthur wanted to ask what and why and how, but he sighed and sat down beside the warlock, relieved that Merlin was no longer in grave danger.

His eyes dropped on a scar on the other side of Merlin's stomach, if only for a short moment. It was clearly a recent injury, still red on the edges.

Merlin watched Arthur's eyes reflect his inner struggle, not knowing whether to confront him or whether to pretend that he didn't notice and let his friend rest.

But when Arthur returned the look, Merlin knew that it was already too late.

The warlock swallowed hard, the image of Finna and the arrow in his side as clear as yesterday. All the things that happened to Merlin suddenly gathered in front of his eyes. Only now did he finally have the chance to look back at the path of blood he'd left behind. All the things he'd hidden from Arthur's eyes, everything that he hadn't said to him, when Arthur had the right to know. Every lie he told, every life he took or allowed to be taken. Merlin's heart clenched with guilt and regret.

"I don't know where to start," he whispered with a shaky voice, avoiding Arthur's sight. He was so tired of everything. A lump formed in his throat and he had to blink a few times to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall. He wished Arthur would let him be, but at the same time, part of him believed that he deserved to be questioned. That it was his punishment.

Arthur shook his head a bit, covering Merlin's stomach with the shirt. He looked like he accepted that this was not the time to talk about Merlin's scar or about anything that kept growing between them for ten long years.

The king placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder, looking into his watery eyes with such kindness and support as if he already knew and understood everything. It was a sight Merlin had never seen from Arthur before.

"I'm sorry..." Merlin whispered, not able to hold his tears back anymore.

"Don't-," Arthur squeezed his shoulder gently, "I'm not angry with you."

"You should be... I've done horrible things, I killed people," he swallowed as more tears rolled down his temples and slid further into his hair. "It's from an arrow," he said with his shaky breath, "Morgana would've killed me, but Finna gave her life so I could live. And I let her die."

Many times his mind returned to the moment in the tower when Finna offered herself to protect Merlin with her life. He'd been injured, but that didn't justify what he'd done. He should have stayed with her and fought.

Arthur gave Merlin's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He didn't want to bring Merlin into such a state and he was secretly angry with himself that he forced his already suffering friend to relive such memories.

He sat there for a moment until Merlin's sobs ceased and he fell asleep again.

...

Arthur managed to move a few miles further toward Camelot, trying to follow the brook to make sure they would have a source of water when Merlin woke up again. The warlock remained in a deep sleep, his chest rising with calm regular breaths. But he was still too pale and with the tunic stained with dried blood he looked worse that Arthur was willing to accept.

It was about midday when gray clouds rolled over the sky, soon followed by a thunder echoing from the distance. The air grew heavy as the first lightning flashed through the trees and even though Arthur increased his pace, he wasn't fast enough to reach the denser part of the forest. He and Merlin were soaked through when they finally found shelter under the crown of one of the oldest trees in the whole kingdom. Arthur put Merlin on the thick layer of pine needles and sat down, leaning his back on the trunk.

"We're gonna get struck," Merlin said lazily. The lightening was getting brighter with every second. Merlin could see it even through his tightly closed eyes and he couldn't help but flinch as an especially close peal of thunder tore the sky apart, sending shivers down his spine. Wind, cold and strong, chased the hair on his forehead.

"We're not gonna get struck," Arthur decided. He knew very well that it was risky to stay under tall trees during a storm, but without any village or cave nearby, they didn't have exactly a choice. He hoped the rain would stop before the drops found their way through the thick leaves, though.

Merlin smiled, the freshness of the wet wind tasted delicious on his tongue. He loved storms. It had something to do with the feeling of anger that Merlin never allowed himself to show. But when nature raged with thunder, something within him raged as well and for a short moment, that subdued part of his soul felt understood by something greater than himself. It was a peaceful and justified cry after everything that was missing and wrong in his life. Whatever it was.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked. He ignored all the questions that he would sooner or later ask and decided not to bother Merlin with before they returned to Camelot.

"Better," he said. "How's your back?"

Arthur opened his mouth, surprised with Merlin's thoughtfulness. "I'm starting to feel it," he said honestly and stretched his spine against the tree. "I may even need my muscles rubbed after we return."

Merlin groaned. "Not from me."

"No, that wouldn't be fair."

"Where's your armour anyway?" Merlin asked in shock, looking at Arthur's tunic, torn at the edges. There was still blood on it, despite the rain.

"At the Lake," Arthur said with confidence, as if it was a common place to leave his armour.

Merlin stared at Arthur and Arthur held his gaze, trying to fight back the mischievous smile that was shaking at the corners of his lips.

"You know, when I said I care about that armour, I really meant it," Merlin whispered mysteriously as if it was a secret no one could know about.

Arthur smiled. "I know you do. I'll send a patrol as soon as we get to Camelot and you will have your precious armour to polish for as long as you can."

"Good," Merlin said seriously. "I want to walk," he added after a while.

"You can't even sit up," Arthur stated and looked at Merlin, who was lying on his side, just the way Arthur left him.

"That's because I'm stiff from not moving," Merlin argued and attempted to get to his feet.

"Stop being stubborn," Arthur used his commanding tone this time, watching Merlin rolling to his back slowly, testing the strength of his muscles.

"Did you know it was contagious?" Merlin asked mockingly.

"You'll hurt yourself further and I will have to carry you anyway," Arthur warned. The sight of Merlin was almost funny, with his messy hair and tangled limbs that looked too long for his body. He turned around on the ground, but as soon as he managed to get on one of his knees, his left arm gave way and he landed hard on his hip.

"Merlin! You-" Arthur hissed angrily, swallowing the last word as he witnessed Merlin's clumsy efforts. He grabbed the warlock's shoulder and rolled him down on his back again, ignoring his struggle to do the opposite.

"-Idiot," Merlin finished the sentence with a painful grin, surprised that Arthur needed encouragement when it came to insulting him.

"Don't be. Don't be an idiot."

"Well, help me, then," Merlin retorted, as if everything was obviously Arthur's fault.

The king stared at him, but the servant already knew he had won, reaching his hands toward him.

"Why do I even try," Arthur sighed in resignation and helped his servant to sit. Merlin's face twitched with pain and he hissed, bringing his hands to his side.

"Thanks."

"I told you you'll hurt yourself," Arthur complained, giving Merlin a reproachful look, but the warlock only apologized with his smile, trying to breathe out the last waves of pain.

He decided to check himself over, just as he knew Gaius would do. When something as simple as sitting up made him feel like all his insides literally repositioned, he was quite curious what would happen if he tried to walk. He took time to examine the strange sensations in his chest. His stomach was definitely empty, clenched along with the muscles of his abdomen, but at the same time, he couldn't say that he was hungry. Sudden moves made him dizzy; his throat was dry and his lips were sore. His body felt painfully real and alive, as if deliberately forcing him to take notice of every fibre of his being. He fisted his hand; his muscles were weak and his pulse quicker than normal.

"You really believe it would work," Arthur pointed his eyes on the neckerchief.

"It already has," Merlin said. His eyes shifted between Arthur and the neckerchief, realizing Arthur was probably waiting for an explanation.

"I-" he started, wondering where to begin, but the king cut him off, already knowing what was on Merlin's mind.

"Not now," he said warmly. "Just... leave it."

It seemed to silence Merlin, if only for a while. Arthur watched with curiosity as Merlin struggled with his thoughts, taking a breath to say what was on his mind only to swallow the words a second later. He changed his mind a few times like that, and looked so confused and torn between following his own urge and obeying the king, that Arthur couldn't help but smile.

"But we have to talk-" Merlin said eventually, biting his lip as if he just spent precious words on something that didn't need to be voiced aloud.

"We will," Arthur reassured him, quite seriously. "Once you are well again and we're safely back to Camelot, I promise we will have a serious talk. There are other things to focus on now. Don't trouble yourself with it."

Merlin stared at him for a moment. There was so much he wished to say, but maybe it was for the best when Merlin himself had no idea where to start. How would he tell Arthur that Nimueh was right about his mother's death? Or that it was him who killed Agraveine? How was he supposed to confess that the love of his life had died by Arthur's hand?

"I was blind," Arthur suddenly interrupted his thoughts, looking deeply into Merlin's eyes. "And I don't mean to your magic, but to you. I was blind to you. I considered you to be my friend, counted on you, but never gave you the chance to see me the same way."

Merlin tried to say something, but the king wasn't finished.

"You deserved to know that I would never judge or hurt you for who you really are."

Merlin frowned, the words caught him by surprise. "You told me, more than once, that I'm your friend," he spoke warmly, smiling with his tired eyes.

"And I really meant it. The point is," Arthur cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously, "I enjoyed the comfort of having a friend, but I didn't allow you to have the same privilege."

Merlin swallowed a few times. He could hear that Arthur's words were planned and carefully weighed. But having Arthur apologize to him didn't feel right.

"I always trusted you, Arthur. Always," Merlin tried to reassure him, but then realised how unconvincing it sounded in light of recent events. "Before the battle," he leaned toward Arthur a bit, "when I came to your chamber, I was determined to tell you the truth. You had the right to know, that there was a sorcerer strong enough to defeat Morgana fighting at your side. And I was so sure that I would find it in me. But then..."

"I understand," Arthur said, his blue eyes staring pensively at the warlock.

But Merlin knew that understanding itself wouldn't make the pain go away.

The king closed his eyes briefly, recognizing the urgency in Merlin's look. Various emotions circulated through his veins, often volatile or contradictory. But out of all the confusion, hurt and betrayal, he mostly felt cheated and deceived. Not by Merlin, surprisingly, but by life itself. His past until now was just an illusion, a combination of undeniable facts and his own assumptions. He never looked behind the veil. He never thought he was supposed to look for or at least suspect, that there was somebody - anybody, silently paying a great deal for his life and safety.

Their eyes separated and they sat for a while, almost as if they were both alone, dwelling in their own thoughts. It was Merlin who broke the silence when the rain stopped, slowly trying to get his body to be able to rise. The last drops of rain were falling from the leaves and branches above them.

"All right, be careful," Arthur helped Merlin on his feet, almost automatically after their previous discussion. He hissed as a few cold drops of rain landed on the back of his neck, sending shivers all over his body.

"It always rains twice in the woods," Merlin noted, putting an arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"Doesn't matter. We're wet already."

Merlin frowned at Arthur's words. "Or not."

"Well, I can certainly get used to this," the king approved.

Their clothes were completely dry.


	4. The Deal

Chapter 4 - The Deal

Arthur sat by the fire, poking it with a stick. Merlin lay on his side close to the fire, asleep. There were still dark circles around his eyes, but he wasn't in pain anymore. Arthur was cautious about the neckerchief, not entirely trusting the Great Dragon, but after watching Merlin the past few hours, he had to admit that his condition was improving.

He wanted to take their journey back slowly. They were taking short breaks regularly, but as the night started to fall Arthur decided to make camp and rest properly. With Morgana dead, he didn't think her mercenaries would make trouble. They hadn't met anyone so far and nothing suggested that would change. He hoped the Saxons had already left the forest, though he couldn't be sure about the individual soldiers in Morgana's army, who had more personal motives to fight against him.

The warlock shifted in his sleep, turning on his left side with a quiet moan, before there was silence again. Arthur thought about sleeping as well, but he wasn't tired, even though all they'd been through would certainly put him into a deep sleep immediately. Ever since he woke up at the Lake, he felt alive more than ever before. His heart was beating strongly in his chest and when he'd carried Merlin, his hands never got tired. He didn't dare to guess whether it was a side-effect of the Dragon's enchantment or whether he just forgot how it felt to be properly alive, but right now it was like he would never lose his strength again.

Merlin shifted once more, bringing his knees closer to his chest, groaning.

"Hey," Arthur whispered when he knelt down beside his friend's body. Merlin's eyes were tightly shut, but he turned his head at hearing Arthur's voice.

"Merlin?" the king asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, careful not to startle him.

Merlin frowned. He licked his lips, not opening his eyes, taking some time to collect his thoughts. Arthur understood. Despite the Dragon's healing neckerchief, there was still a stab wound in Merlin's chest and Arthur remembered the pain well enough to misunderstand his behavior.

"Come on, turn over," he offered silently, helping Merlin to lay his body straight. He knew that curling himself into a ball would actually bring him only discomfort, no matter how tempting it might have felt.

"Better?"

Merlin frowned again, but after a few seconds, he nodded, eyes still tightly closed.

"Good," Arthur breathed out, watching Merlin's face closely. He had a slight suspicion that his servant was hiding something from him, but he didn't give it much attention, blaming it on the still fresh magic reveal. At first, he presumed that it must have been a great relief for Merlin to finally tell the truth, but when he thought about it more deeply, he had to admit Merlin had many reasons to feel insecure and frightened about the future, the same as he did.

Arthur sat down on the grass, refusing to leave his spot, even though his legs were becoming stiff from the position.

"It's not good, is it," he said when he saw Merlin holding his breath and biting his lip.

The warlock opened his eyes, tears already forming in the corners. He breathed out a silent moan and shook his head, finally succumbing after being caught.

"You don't have to play a hero. I already know you are one," Arthur tried to distract him.

"How- ahh-", Merlin groaned, pain cutting his words off. His side was getting worse and Merlin didn't understand it. Everything was all right until now - of course, he felt some pain, but it was dull and distant, slowly retreating as his wound under the neckerchief healed. It was only in the last few moments that half of his ribcage became stiff, refusing to expand when he sucked the air in, making him feel like he would suffocate from the fire in his lungs. He was becoming painfully aware of the wound and there was a strange tickling sensation in there as if it was bleeding again.

"How did you manage-," he held his breath, almost pleading that Arthur would help him to control the slowly escalating pain that threatened to take hold of his mind. While Arthur endured the wound, he'd been silent all the time, holding it under a not allowing it to influence his body and mind. Merlin knew that Arthur was a warrior, brave and a strong man, but he was becoming desperate.

"I had a good friend looking after me," Arthur stated simply, holding Merlin's shoulder.

"That's it?"

"What were you expecting?"

"No- it's fine," Merlin shifted as if trying to get away from the invisible source of his suffering, "I thought you had some miraculous secret. Something only the knights of Camelot know, maybe."

"Nice to see you have your sense of humour back," Arthur smiled.

Merlin shook his head languorously, closing his eyes.

"Don't hold your breath," Arthur warned him. Merlin was obviously struggling with the pain, biting his lip to control it, but carrying on like that could only make things worse. "You don't have to be ashamed."

"It burns," the warlock whispered, his body becoming restless, his breathing ragged. Tears rolled down his temples and he gasped like there wasn't enough air in the whole forest to satisfy his lungs.

"Just try to rest. I'm here," Arthur said soothingly, struggling to accept that there was nothing he could do to help his friend.

Minutes passed and Merlin was still in pain. At least he was not getting worse, Arthur thought. But he couldn't be sure how much his servant was hiding from him. Perhaps Arthur's presence was making everything more difficult, because Merlin didn't want to bother him. Merlin was extremely skilled in hiding things from him, after all.

He couldn't help but wonder how Merlin must have felt when their roles were reversed. Did he experience the same hopelessness when he was holding Arthur's dying body? When all Merlin had to offer was his presence, a slight feeling of solidarity, of understanding his suffering? He wished he could give Merlin some of the strength his body seemed to have a surplus of, that the life force storming in his veins would slide down through his arm straight into the warlock's tortured body. It was hard to accept, that all his human strength and all the magic in the world couldn't save his friend from the pain that was once his own.

The warlock tried to turn on his side, but Arthur held him down. He decided to check the state of the wound, already lifting Merlin's tunic, but the servant didn't let him, convulsively clenching his fingers around Arthur's hand that was reaching towards the neckerchief.

"Merlin, let me," Arthur tried to bring some sense in him. The Dragon said that his blood must remain on the wound until Merlin healed completely, but Arthur wasn't content with that. He couldn't trust him so easily, not when he obviously forgot to mention that the healing included a greater amount of pain.

"No," the word came from Merlin's mouth like a subdued cry, "-don't-."

"I'm not going to put it off, just look underneath, make sure everything's fine," Arthur explained.

Merlin gave out a desperate sob before Arthur lifted the bloodied neckerchief from the wound. Arthur noticed that the wound was bleeding under the fabric, however, a few seconds after he removed the neckerchief, Merlin's body suddenly calmed down and he breathed out as if all the pain vanished with one move.

The king met Merlin's eyes with fear and confusion.

"It's bleeding more than it was before," Arthur stated with obvious scepticism.

"No... it's healing, I can feel it."

"Healing?" Arthur exclaimed as if Merlin himself wasn't aware of the pain it actually caused.

"Kilgharrah would never wish me harm," Merlin said stubbornly, his voice strained and tired. He welcomed the short moment of comfort, the sharp pain going away, allowing him to breathe and think, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. "You have to put it back."

"The dragon had all the good reasons to kill you. Maybe he didn't change after all-"

"He saved my life many times," Merlin whispered. He understood Arthur's doubts. The last time Arthur saw the Dragon, they were in a desperate battle for Camelot with many wounded and dead. That was the picture Arthur carried in his head. Kilgharrah as the killing monster that threatened to take the lives of those he loved. Merlin couldn't blame him for being suspicious.

"You are a Dragon Lord. You ordered him. The creature simply didn't have any choice."

"Kilgharrah saved your life," Merlin swallowed hard, speaking slowly, "and I can't heal myself the same as I couldn't heal you-"

Merlin's voice broke. Arthur took the only hope he had, holding it in his hand like a dagger, resisting the temptation to throw it in the fire and let it burn.

"Please," Merlin urged.

Arthur stopped, not able to find the right words. "It's hurting you," he said at last. Every fibre of his being fought against it. Merlin obviously trusted the Dragon with his life. There was silence. He hated making decisions when there was nothing to choose between. He breathed out and nodded slightly, placing the neckerchief back on the wound.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered and gently took Arthur's wrist. "Promise me, you won't put it away... no matter what-"

The king wanted to nod again automatically, but soon he realised what was Merlin asking him to do. The unnatural pauses between his words seemed to speak for themselves. No matter what happened, the neckerchief must remain on the wound. No matter for how long, no matter how much it would hurt and no matter how much Merlin would beg for it to stop.

The warlock could pinpoint the exact moment when Arthur connected his innocent wish with the sheer horror of the reality.

Arthur stared at him, fighting his own inner battle. He could imagine how scared and tired Merlin must have been. His body probably hurt like it had been buried under a ton of rock and if his mind was storming only half as Arthur's had done when he hurt, he was surprised that Merlin could hold himself together. More than ever before Merlin needed a friend; the presence of someone who could be stronger and braver than he himself was able to be. Arthur's thoughts went back to their journey from Camlann to Avalon.

"You have my word," he said eventually. He owed him that.


	5. Intruders

I would like to thank you all for your support, especially for the kind reviews!

* * *

Chapter 5 - Intruders

Merlin sat by a tree, leaning his left shoulder and head on the rough bark, watching his surroundings with heavy eyes. His head spun and there were moments when he almost couldn't remember where he was and what was going on. His damp hair tickled his forehead and clothes soaked with sweat and blood stuck to his otherwise cold skin.

He hadn't really slept at night. He tried, but general exhaustion in combination with the throbbing wound sent him into a never-ending circle of vague consciousness and restless sleep. If he drifted off for a while, he was awoken by horrible nightmares and unbearable pain. He remembered Arthur changing the cloth on his brow and he recalled some soothing words he would never expect to leave Arthur's mouth, but he knew that his friend was awake during the whole night as well.

It was ironical. He's never been more tired in his life, but sleep simply couldn't bring him the rest his body and mind desired.

He shifted, ignoring the roots of the tree digging into his awkwardly folded legs. The air was fuzzy with little insects flying sleepily in the blue haze above the hot earth. Two white butterflies chased each other not far from his position and he watched them with curiosity before they disappeared. The forest was otherwise still and silent. It looked like nature could no longer keep up with its usual pace, making every second expand into hours.

Arthur left early in the morning to find something for breakfast and to collect firewood. Merlin was grateful. They both needed some time alone. He allowed himself a heavy sigh when his wound sent a jolt of pain through his body, tearing him out from his sleepy world. It was easier to let out the little groans and gasps when Arthur wasn't nearby to hear them.

Wondering how long it would take to heal, Merlin replayed the last moments with Kilgharrah again. He wished he knew more about the enchantment. Not because of himself. He trusted the Dragon with his life. But Arthur's impatience gradually rose every time Merlin failed to silence another whimper or managed to bite his lip too hard. The tension between them was making everything more difficult than it already was and for a short moment, Merlin hoped Arthur had left him to go to Camelot by himself. He quickly chased the thought away, ashamed of his tired mind.

He carefully hugged his middle and took a few steady breaths. From his perspective, there was nothing to fear anymore. He'd saved Arthur. He'd saved himself. All he needed to complete his journey was to live through the next few hours of healing. He could do it, but Arthur was different. He understood that his friend doubted the Great Dragon. What worried him, though, was that Arthur seemed to have troubles trusting Merlin's word as well.

His magic was still a burden. He could pinpoint every moment a new realization clicked in Arthur's head. Every time an old memory connected with the fact that Merlin had magic, Arthur's eyes betrayed him. He tried to hide it, but Merlin knew better. He could see how desperately Arthur needed to let the words out, how much he needed to ask and make himself understand. But instead, he'd sigh heavily or break a twig he was playing with while thinking.

Merlin's hands shook and his temple was becoming bruised from the bark of the tree. He swallowed against another groan, feeling his tears mixed with sweat rolling down his face.

Suddenly a distant voice reached his ears. He looked up, blinking to clear his vision. He could see a small group of bandits quite far from his position, but when more men appeared on the horizon, it was obvious they wouldn't be able to pass without noticing their camp.

His breath quickened, but he didn't panic as he knew he could easily lure them away with magic-inducing a movement in the scrubs or a fire smoke in the distance, just as he did before. Slowly, he stood up, subduing another groan as the movement aggravated the wound.

However, the moment the spell crossed his mind, he lost his balance. He gasped, watching his hand reach for the tree in a slow motion. Before he could think of what happened, everything around him turned black.

...

Merlin's curled body looked ridiculously small against the majestic tree trunk when Arthur looked at him from the distance. In fact, Merlin looked smaller in comparison with his usual self in the past three days, but the scenery added more to the unusual contradiction. He looked like he wanted to hide from the world, head bent between sunken shoulders and legs buried in the fallen leafs, embraced by the huge roots that framed his body like arms of a giant. This unconcealed vulnerability in combination with enormous power filled Arthur's heart with genuine awe for his friend.

Despite that, Arthur had a very strong suspicion that Merlin was hiding something from him. He knew that considering the circumstances such feeling was more than justified, but he couldn't miss the strange combination of urgency in Merlin's eyes and the unusual silence that spread around him like some sort of protective shield.

He was already heading back to the warlock when he heard the rumble from somewhere behind his position. He stopped behind one tree, looking at Merlin's direction. Merlin obviously noticed the presence of the mercenaries as well, trying to get up on his legs. Arthur's jaw dropped when he watched Merlin's hand reaching up, possibly to use magic to distract them. But something didn't go quite well and his legs wobbled, slowly folding under the weight of his body. Arthur didn't hesitate. He instinctively dropped the logs and jumped to Merlin's side just in time to alleviate the fall, cursing silently. The timing couldn't have been more unfortunate.

He felt the eyes of the mercenaries on his back and he knew they had been found when the crowd burst into a growling laugh. He quickly stood up, drawing his sword, and took two steps forward, trying to create distance between them and the unconscious servant.

One of the men, the leader, approached Arthur, who raised his sword in response.

"Any food you have?" the man spat.

Arthur looked at him suspiciously and briefly scanned the rest of them. They seemed to be drunk, some of them were wounded, others just incredibly dirty, but it was obvious they were returning from a battle. The question surprised him. He wasn't sure whether it was supposed to be a joke.

"No," he said eventually, without the slightest movement.

The man threw a contemptuous look at Merlin before his eyes focused on Arthur with curiosity. He watched him thoroughly as something rare and extremely interesting. Stepping forward, his right hand made a quick, almost unnoticeable twitch, that no one but Arthur could see. The king lifted his sword a bit higher, giving him a warning look.

The leader was still at least three feet away, but Arthur highly suspected that he wanted to touch him. They didn't carry anything with the crest of Camelot and Arthur didn't have his armor that would suggest he was a knight, yet he wasn't able to figure out whether the man recognized him or not.

The warlock groaned behind him, but Arthur did his best to resist the urge to turn around.

"Pretty bad shape, isn't he?" the man growled, pretending to be interested in Merlin's condition.

"He'll be fine," Arthur responded, trying to sound indifferent. The smell of their bodies hit his nose.

"What if we sit with you for a while?" the leader offered. "We can help you with your friend, maybe?" The offer was followed by a growling laugh by his men.

"I don't think so," Arthur said slowly and carefully, trying to be stern and polite at the same time. He wanted to step closer to Merlin but he couldn't afford to show fear and weakness. Being alone against a group of at least fifteen men, all his hopes concentrated around one thought: that the mercenaries' needs had been satisfied at Camlann and they were still too tired from the battle to start another one.

The man smiled gleefully, nodding with contempt. "Your men killed my men after all," he said and spat on the ground.

Arthur didn't make a move. His breath stuck in his throat at hearing the words.

He'd been taught that mercenaries were the slaves of greed and that their loyalty belonged to anyone who could provide them with money and food. But Arthur soon found out that what drove the will of a mercenary was not the promise of wealth, but the desire for violence and blood. They were born savages and traitors.

"Be careful," the man added, "you're not the only one in this part of the woods. You might find yourself in big trouble," he smiled, his eyes sparkling with malicious excitement. "I wouldn't dare to close my eye."

Arthur nodded reluctantly. He stood there, his sword firmly in his hand. To his surprise the leader turned to leave and his men followed him without hesitation. None of them looked back. When the woods swallowed their voices completely and their silhouettes disappeared in the distance, Arthur finally breathed out in relief.

He looked at Merlin, restless as if dreaming. They had to move from the path. He couldn't risk that the mercenaries would change their minds and attack. It seemed to him they might need to buy some time, guard Merlin until-

Merlin groaned, bringing a hand to his side.

"Nice of you to join me," Arthur said shortly, crouching to his servant.

The warlock opened his eyes, blinking a few times. His memories were slowly coming back to him. The mercenaries. The spell. "What happened?" he asked, voice hoarse. The wound was pulsing with dull pain.

"You went down like a sack of potatoes," Arthur said, the tone of his voice suggesting that he wasn't as surprised as he should have been.

"I- what?"

"The mercenaries heard the noise and came straight to us," Arthur carried on.

Merlin frowned, massaging his brow in confusion. "What noise?"

Arthur cleared his throat nervously. It wasn't exactly the way he wanted their conversation to go. "I dropped the logs so I could catch you."

"You-" Merlin stopped as if Arthur's words came to him with a delay. He couldn't help but feel a wave of shame and horror when he realised that not only he failed in misleading the mercenaries, he'd literary lured them to their camp, knocked himself out in the process, and left Arthur to face them all by himself.

"How did you beat them?" He looked around, trying to find signs of fighting, but he stopped when the short turn of his head woke the wound.

"Diplomacy," Arthur breathed out and sat in the leaves. It wasn't something he would call a diplomatic meeting, but when it came to mercenaries, diplomacy was basically anything that didn't involve fists and weapons.

Merlin smiled suspiciously. "You talked them to death?"

The king shot him an angry look. "I didn't have much choice, did I?"

Arthur grew serious and Merlin found himself reflecting on his state. "I should have known it won't work."

"You should have," Arthur confirmed. "What exactly did you do?" he asked after a while.

"I... don't know, " Merlin paused. The spell was easy and quick. His magic was present with him and he'd used a spell before to dry their clothes, which gave him the impression that the wound in his side wasn't affecting his powers. But obviously, he was wrong.

"Merlin-" Arthur's warning tone brought him back from his thoughts. He had a dangerous look on his face when Merlin turned his head towards him.

"What are you doing?" Arthur let the question hang above them. Merlin didn't understand, confused with the sudden change in his friend's voice. Chills ran down his spine when Arthur reached out, grabbing his right wrist in an almost violent movement.

Merlin's eyes widened in shock. He has been tugging on the bandage on the wound without being aware of it. His fingers clenched around the neckerchief and he froze when the king's hand tried to release the grasp.

For a single moment Arthur though he would have to use force to separate Merlin's trembling hand from the red fabric, but after a few calming breaths Merlin let go of it, fisting his hand next to his body to release the tension.

"Magic," Merlin whispered through his clenched teeth. It hurt to think about the wound.

"I thought your magic was currently out of order," Arthur noted.

"It's the magic from the wound," Merlin whispered. He felt some traces of it before, but he thought he had it under control. It was so subtle and weak he wasn't sure it was real, or if it was just a result of his general exhaustion.

"What magic from the wound?" Arthur asked alertly.

"Mordred's sword was forged in dragon's breath," Merlin explained slowly, his voice becoming hoarse and somehow quieter than before. "It shouldn't have broken."

Arthur sighed, rubbing his brow, but then he realised it made sense. If Mordred's sword had been made the same way as his, it should have been impossible for it to break when pushed through a stone, let alone a human body. Morgana had done something to make sure he would die from some sort of twisted magic.

Merlin watched the rising confusion in Arthur's eyes. "I don't think we should worry," he tried to reassure him, "Kilgharrah knew. He must have counted on the effects it would have on me."

"Shouldn't worry?" Arthur exclaimed. His brows rose in surprise, making Merlin immediately regret mentioning Kilgharrah again. "If the Dragon knew, why didn't he do anything to break the enchantment?"

Merlin's heart sank a little lower at hearing the sharp, incredulous tone. "It doesn't work like that. This magic is difficult..."

Arthur stood up quickly as if putting some distance between himself and Merlin would throw a light on the problem. He looked around, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and sighed when his hands rested at his sides again.

"Every time when magic is involved," he said, his breath shaking with contained anger and fear, "something bad happens. Somebody dies."

"Not every time," Merlin contradicted.

"You can not guarantee that you will survive."

"Nobody can guarantee anything," Merlin protested.

"If I listened to my instincts," Arthur's throat constricted and he rubbed his nose nervously.

Merlin leaned on his elbow in a weak attempt to get closer to him. "It's not your instinct," he said carefully. "It's fear."

Once Merlin finished the sentence, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He lowered himself back on the ground again.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief and Merlin knew that there was something on his mind he wasn't quite comfortable with sharing. He breathed fiercely through his nose, eyes shifting around impatiently as if he wanted to be anywhere but with Merlin.

"I know that you are not being honest with me," he said at last and lightly wiped his lip. "You don't truly believe the dragon, do you?"

Merlin had honestly no idea what Arthur was referring to.

"Do not blame magic, you said," Arthur stated as he looked into Merlin's uncomprehending face. His voice was higher than he aimed for and every word was followed by a pregnant pause. He went silent for a while, as if it was too difficult to say it all at once, and took a huge breath before he carried on. "If it won't work... do not blame Kilgharrah."

The silence that followed was deafening. Every word that left Arthur's mouth was a stone thrown at Merlin's feet. Suddenly he couldn't move and breathe. He realised it was the first time he said the Dragon's name and he immediately regretted it. The creature didn't deserve to have a name.

The prolonged silence made the memory of Merlin begging him not to forsake magic almost unbearable. "What is that you're not telling me?" he asked, not caring about the obvious desperation that reflected in his voice. "What are you hiding?"

Merlin frowned and dropped his gaze with a trace of shame. "I don't remember that," he whispered apologetically.

However, the confession only added more fuel to the fire.

"Of course you wouldn't remember!" Arthur exclaimed, "I could barely hear you myself. You were half mad with pain!"

Another horrible pause.

Merlin didn't know what to say. Arthur's breath was fast and violent in the loneliness of the space. He realised that until now he only had a slight idea how serious had been the harm to Arthur's trust of magic and of Merlin himself. He didn't even believe that Merlin was supposed to survive it in the first place.

"Arthur, I told you everything," the warlock said softly. "I haven't kept anything from you."

The king stared him for a moment, the anger in his eyes slowly replaced with silent sadness. "I'm not sure I believe you."

That hurt. Merlin pressed his lips tightly together but said nothing.

"And I'm sorry that I can't trust magic the way you do. But this," Arthur pointed his finger on the neckerchief, "is not doing you any good."

Merlin shivered. The tone of Arthur's voice suggested that though Arthur was not going to break his promise, he would do anything to take his word back.

"Why can't you trust me?" Merlin said with all the strength and composure he could currently muster. He didn't want to plead, but the words turned out just like that.

Arthur chuckled bitterly as if it was Merlin who was clearly missing the point of their argument. "Why couldn't you trust me?" he repeated the question plainly. "Experience."

With that, he turned on his heel and left Merlin alone.


	6. Second Breath

Chapter 6 - Second Breath

Merlin stared at the treetops for a long time. There was nothing more fascinating than the silhouettes of the branches flying in the wind, creaking as they hooked into each other, and the leaves quivering in the light breeze. He felt light-headed. The beating of his heart matched the beating in the earth for a while and Merlin almost enjoyed the harmony of it. He might have a fever again, but he couldn't make himself care. He forced himself to close his eyes for a while, surprised that they suddenly filled with tears.

He had no idea where Arthur was or whether he was planning to come back. He understood Arthur's reaction - he almost wished he didn't, because it didn't ease his own feeling of betrayal, but Arthur had suffered at the hands of his family and friends more than he ever suffered from his greatest enemies. And Merlin had a great part in that, too.

He didn't want to think about that now. He knew that things would clear once they had time for a proper talk, but now he couldn't do more than wait till Arthur calmed down, even if it was only a temporary solution.

He opened his eyes again, trying to distract himself from his thoughts by staring at the hypnotic waving of the branches.

Hearing a distant swirling in the leaves, Merlin lifted his head, awaiting Arthur. His vision blurred for a moment, but after a few quick blinks, Merlin knew that whatever was moving in the shrubs was certainly not Arthur, maybe not even a human being.

He leaned on his left elbow, holding his breath as the world around him turned black for a moment. His eyes scanned his surroundings. Nothing happened and Merlin started to think that it was his own mind playing tricks on him. The hum from the ground grew louder, turning into a distinctive sound of horses stomping the ground. White mist emerged between the trees and at the moment Merlin thought he saw a silhouette of a horse on his back legs, a voice came from the opposite direction.

He turned his head. It was Arthur.

Merlin's eyes immediately shifted back to the place where the movement appeared, but there was no trace of whatever had been there before. Not sure what he'd just seen, he breathed out and leaned his back on the tree again, slightly shaken.

Arthur seemed to notice Merlin's insecurity and looked in the same direction, but when he was sure there was nothing to fear, he decided not to mention it. He knelt down to the servant, smiling.

"I brought you this," he said proudly, holding out strawberries lying on a few layers of maple leafs.

Merlin frowned and averted his face slightly. "I'm not hungry."

"Good. Because if you were, this won't be much of a help," Arthur brought his hand closer to the warlock's face. Merlin shook his head and closed his mouth tightly as if afraid Arthur would force the strawberries down his throat.

"Come on," Arthur encouraged him, "you need to eat something. Or do you want me to chew them for you?"

Merlin's frown deepened. "You're... gross," he growled after a while and looked at the handful in Arthur's palm. Eventually, he decided that though he had no appetite whatsoever, tasting them wouldn't harm him.

"What I said to you..." Arthur started, watching Merlin eating one strawberry after another. "I made a promise and I'm going to keep it."

Merlin's eyes dropped, but he didn't say anything and Arthur sighed silently. Time and again he'd lost somebody he was not prepared to let go of. The fact that magic was involved put all his senses on alert. It was almost like his prejudice was so deep inside him, that a mere decision, no matter how sincere, couldn't be enough to make a real change. But he knew it didn't justify his childish behavior. He shouldn't have left Merlin alone.

"And I do trust you, Merlin," he looked at his friend with uncertainty, scanning his face. "I trust you with my life... it's just..."

Merlin suddenly met his gaze.

"I may find it a bit difficult to trust you with yours," Arthur smiled nervously after the words, wondering if they made the slightest bit of sense.

The warlock understood that Arthur had taken a shortcut when he accepted him with his magic. But though Merlin felt a huge relief, he had to admit that it wasn't fair to Arthur. He had been dying. He'd been under pressure from his own conscience and he'd had to make peace with Merlin before he died.

"It's all right," Merlin said eventually. "If you want to keep the ban on magic, I won't stand in your way."

Arthur frowned. "What? That's not what I mean, Merlin. Why would you say that?"

Merlin was confused.

Arthur's eyes shifted somewhere between the trees. Looking into Merlin's eyes made it suddenly difficult to speak. "If anything happens to you, there is no way I would be able to make things right."

"I'm not the only sorcerer in the land, you know?" Merlin smiled mockingly.

"Maybe," Arthur paid the smile back, "but you're the only one I can trust."

Merlin looked at him for a while. Arthur's words made him wonder whether he should tell him about the strange shaking of the ground he felt. It suddenly made him realise that trust was still a question for him, too.

"There's something...," he gasped, propping himself on one elbow. "I can hear something under the earth," he confessed a little faster than he was intending.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"Some noise...," Merlin added, almost wishing to take the words back. He was right. It sounded much crazier when said aloud. "These dreams I have about Camlann and the sounds are somehow connected..." he paused for a while, not able to pick up the right words.

"It's common, you know... experiencing nightmares after a battle," Arthur stated, trying to offer an explanation that was less mysterious than what Merlin suggested.

But Merlin knew it wasn't that. The look on Arthur's face was more worried than amused, but there was of both.

"Here," Merlin laid his palm on the leaf-covered ground and beckoned Arthur to do the same. Arthur's eyebrows rose in surprise at Merlin's suggestion, but he hesitantly put his hand next to Merlin's and waited.

After a few moments, it was clear that Arthur couldn't feel or hear anything unusual. "What does it sound like?" he asked eventually, trying not to take it lightly when Merlin was obviously worried.

"Horses, running... hooves stomping the ground," Merlin answered. "I'm not sure if it's a memory or a vision. Or if it's happening now."

"Now?"

"I know it doesn't make sense," Merlin admitted, "but the sound is here with us now. I can hear it as I can hear you."

The warlock closed his eyes for a while, his hand still lying in the leaves. His face showed deep focus and he was breathing shallowly and calmly, as if the breathing itself was interfering with the strange sound coming from the earth.

"Ever since I woke up, it's always the same. Just more... real," he said slowly, without opening his eyes. "Before you came, I saw them here. Horses."

Arthur frowned, the new information awakening his interest. Merlin certainly hadn't been asleep when he returned and he was more than sure he would have noticed if a group of horses came by their camp. "What do you mean by here?"

Merlin opened his eyes. "I told you I can't explain it. It's just I thought I should tell you," he said quietly. He didn't want to put more weight on Arthur's shoulders, but knowing he wasn't in a state to trust his own judgement and interpret his instincts adequately, sharing it with Arthur was the least he could do. He didn't know what was happening, and something was telling him that he was missing something gravely important.

"We'll get to Camelot soon. If it your dreams haven't stopped haunting you by then, I'm sure Gaius will figure out something," Arthur finished, sounding more confident than he actually felt.

...

Arthur walked around the camp, not far from Merlin, but far enough to make himself believe that he was alone. It was only now, when their return to Camelot became critical, that he realised he was subconsciously trying to make their journey longer, stopping every few hours and resting a little more than was necessary. Of course, Merlin needed to rest, but Arthur knew that the warlock was eager to get back and willing to give up his comfort in exchange for an early reunion with Gaius.

The truth was, he knew very little of what was happening in the castle. Both he and Merlin could have easily been presumed dead or at least missing after such a long time, no matter if Gaius managed to inform Guinevere about their whereabouts or not. His enemies were undoubtedly awaiting the result of the battle at Camlann and even though they had won, Camelot was seriously weakened after the exhausting fight. On top of that, Arthur had only a vague idea of the casualties and knew very little about the condition of his knights.

"Arthur-"

The sudden rustling in the scrubs made him jump. He turned around, his sword ready for defence, panic washing over him when he thought the mercenaries had changed their minds.

"Percival!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Sire," the knight bowed his head slightly as Arthur shook his hand and patted his shoulder.

"What are you doing here? Where are the rest of you?" Arthur asked, frowning in concern.

Percival remained silent for a while, avoiding the king's gaze as his words filled him with a sadness of another kind. The rest of them - who was that anymore? He swallowed hard a few times, his eyes resting on Merlin's prone body not far from their position. It was a reaction Arthur would never expect from any of his knights, especially not Percival. He was always self-composed and straightforward. Arthur couldn't help but notice after a few moments, that his knight was barely holding himself together.

"What happened?" Arthur asked.

"Gwaine," it was barely a whisper but it cut through Arthur's chest like a dagger. Percival still refused to look into his eyes, but the silence that followed spoke for itself. Gwaine was dead.

...

Merlin was asleep when Arthur and Percival returned to their camp and sat down by the fire. They talked quietly; Percival seemed exhausted and they were trying to protect Merlin from the cruel truth as well. Arthur could hardly stay composed when Percival told him about Eira's betrayal and the circumstances of Gwaine's death. He was shocked how deeply Morgana's evil reached. Even though they'd uncovered Eira's treachery in time, the wheel of Morgana's devious plan was still turning.

When Arthur told Percival about Merlin's sacrifice and the death or the Great Dragon, the knight seemed unmoved, as if he was too tired to feel the true weight of the words. Even mentioning Merlin's magic couldn't force a reaction from him, apart from a slight nod.

"She carried a Nathair," Percival said eventually, his voice solemn. "We dispatched her men, but Gwaine-"

Arthur froze when he realised what was Percival trying to say. That was how Morgana had known their location.

"I will accept any punishment, my lord," Percival said resolutely.

"What are you talking about?"

"We acted behind the queen's back, my lord. We didn't ask for her permission and we recklessly endangered your life... and the lives of our friends. We... I committed treason," he said monotonously as if he already sentenced himself many times in his mind.

"Treason is plotting against the Crown. Your aim was to... " Arthur broke off for a moment.

"Was revenge," Percival said carefully. "Not justice, but revenge."

Arthur knew what led Percival to such way of thinking. It was guilt. He also knew that it wasn't in Percival's nature to seek out such danger, that it had been Gwaine's idea and Percival felt responsible for him and so had accompanied him on his suicide mission to destroy Morgana.

Gwaine's death must have been the worst punishment of all. Despite the fact Percival had lost his best friend, he had enough sense of justice that he willingly gave himself up to Arthur's judgement. It was an action worthy of the knight of Camelot.

"I'm not punishing you, Sir Percival," Arthur said. "That is my final decision. Let us not speak of it again."

Percival's eyes dropped, and he nodded slightly.

"You don't have a horse," Arthur wanted to change the subject. He couldn't hide the hint of hope in his voice; a horse would certainly help them now. At least Percival carried his sword and he could see a knife in his boot and a water skin behind his belt. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"I rode fast... without pause," Percival's voice was broken. With his ashen face and sunken shoulders, he didn't look much like himself anymore. His head was bent and whenever he looked at Arthur, his eyes reflected the deep sorrow of his heart. "The horse couldn't hold such pace... became exhausted... I had to leave it... run a few miles, until I found you."

Arthur was watching his knight closely, trying to read between the lines. It was hard to accept the state Percival found himself in. He would never have believed, that a man of such composure and strength could come so close to breaking. Percival was one of his toughest knights, and not only in terms of his physical strength. All the members of his family had been killed by Cenred. Arthur believed that after such a blow, there was nothing in this world that could bring Percival down.

"I knew I couldn't be in time," the knight added and Arthur noticed a single tear that fell into the grass. He understood that Percival felt personally responsible for Gwaine and that he would have done anything to stop Morgana from reaching them.

By the time they'd both told their stories, it was obvious the knight was completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally. They both needed time to process all that had been said, and neither Percival nor Merlin was in a state to move on.

"Take some rest," Arthur said, knowing that above all else, his knight needed some time alone. "I'm gonna try to catch us some food."

The knight only nodded without looking at Arthur. He wiped away the tears in a mechanical gesture and leaned his back against a tree, next to Merlin's restless body. He fell asleep immediately.

...

"I've seen at least four troops of bandits and a few Saxons," Percival stated, sitting by the fire to enjoy the meal Arthur prepared for them. The warlock was still asleep, though he was restless and clearly haunted by his dreams. Arthur understood by now that it was best to put a hand on his shoulder and let him sleep. Merlin always managed to calm down like that, though the peace was usually short-lived.

"I'm not sure it is wise to stay in one place for too long," the knight said, after a generous bite of the roasted rabbit.

Arthur nodded when he returned to Percival. "We've met one group too. They seemed a little too friendly."

Percival stopped eating for a moment, not understanding the king.

"They were wounded and starving... wanted to join me," Arthur explained.

"Wonders never cease," the knight noted, resting his sight on the warlock for a while. "You think the troops are fighting against each other?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," Arthur confirmed. "They are like wild dogs unleashed, sniffing around to find a new master."

"We should tell him," Percival nodded towards Merlin.

Arthur swallowed the bite. He knew how fond Merlin was of Gwaine. They were better friends that Arthur could ever be with his knights.

"I'll tell him," he said eventually, "at the right moment."

"Merlin's lucky to have you," Percival said. He couldn't help but notice that Arthur's approach toward his servant hadn't changed. He understood that Merlin saved his life and did more than was ever required from a servant, but still, Arthur was a proud man and Merlin's secret must have hurt him badly.

"We are all lucky to have him," Arthur corrected. He didn't miss the unspoken question that hung over them, Percival's look gave him away.

"You don't seem-" the knight noted carefully.

"I'm not," Arthur cut him off.

"Apologies, my lord," the knight said humbly, "It's none of my business."

"No need to apologize. Merlin's your friend. I understand," Arthur said, thinking how to explain the attitude that Percival found confusing. "In the face of death, some issues, once overwhelming, seem small. I cannot be cross with him. Not after what he's done for Camelot."

"He saved your life," Percival said.

"Far more than that. And yet," Arthur smiled, "Merlin would never use his magic against me."

The knight nodded.

"You're right. We should move," Arthur said after a while. "If nothing surprises us, we can get home by tomorrow noon."

But before Arthur could get his legs under him, Merlin suddenly shifted with a pained gasp. Arthur and Percival jumped to his side in an instant, looking in the confused eyes of their friend. Drops of sweat sparkled on his forehead and his eyes were unfocused under heavy eye-lids, almost as if he was still trapped in the dream.

"Come on," Arthur said, gently squeezing his shoulders, but when it was clear Merlin had managed a firmer grasp of reality, he helped him to sit up. The warlock obeyed with a silent grunt, briefly noticing Percival standing behind the king.

"It was just a nightmare," Arthur repeated, presuming Merlin's dream was about Camlann. He was shaking all over, hands convulsively clenching the sleeves on Arthur's upper arms and breathing so harshly, that Arthur found himself attempting to breathe in Merlin's stead or at least show him how to do it.

"It's not a dream," Merlin disagreed, turning his head quickly as if he was trying to shake off the nightmare.

"What do you mean?" Percival asked.

Merlin's breathing quickened. "It's an army," he stuttered through his clattering teeth. "I saw a crest. It's Essetir."


	7. Hope

Chapter 7 - Hope

"Is it possible?" Percival asked, helping Merlin to lean against a tree. "What about the peace treaty?"

"If Lot thinks I'm dead, he could make that an end to our peace," Arthur said. They had talked about it before the battle. They had to consider scenarios in which their presumed allies would turn against Camelot in the event of Arthur's fall.

"But Camelot isn't defenseless," Percival pointed out.

"No. But it's clearly weakened. Besides, Lot needs to see the ruler as a threat, not as a sovereign. He's not afraid of Guinevere and that's enough for him to take his chances."

"He's no better than Cenred," Percival said. "You think he's just testing his boundaries?"

"If he's alone, then it's possible. If he found an ally..." he left the thought unfinished, contemplating anyone who would plot against him. Camelot had been at peace with the four kingdoms for more than five years now and none of his allies had broken the treaties when Morgana attacked. It seemed improbable that Lot would dare to gather the surviving members of Morgana's army and take his chances with Camelot by himself. Improbable, but not impossible.

He knew that their safety was secondary now. They needed to focus on the people of Camelot, and he needed to warn Guinevere, but even with a horse chances were they wouldn't be able to get there in time. And they certainly didn't have a horse.

"I should go," Percival suddenly offered, as if he could read Arthur's thoughts. "If I run through the night, I might be able to warn Camelot."

But Arthur only shook his head. "Alone... it's not worth the risk."

He looked at Merlin, consideration shifting in his eyes. Merlin was still trembling slightly, and naturally, Arthur wondered if he was capable of any sort of magic, though the thought made him feel ashamed of himself. After everything his servant had been through, he simply found it ridiculously arrogant to ask him for more help.

But perhaps, there was one thing Merlin would be able to do.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked carefully. "Can you warn Guinevere? The way you warned me?" he suggested and nervously crouched by the warlock again. Percival was sitting opposite, so they created a circle just like they used to in Camelot around the round table.

Merlin shook his head. It was painfully obvious how much he hated to disappoint Arthur. "I've tried," he admitted. Without a firm hold on his magic and without a crystal, he couldn't see a way to do it.

Arthur nodded in acceptance, and his warrior's instincts started to kick in. They needed a plan. Merlin first heard the army two days ago. Arthur presumed it had taken them a day to reach the border of Camelot, though he couldn't be sure. It had been three days since Camlann and Lot's army could have been already waiting on the border when the battle started. If that was the case, they could expect the first advanced guards in a matter of hours.

Merlin suddenly shifted, trying to get closer to the lingering fire behind Arthur. He slowly lifted his hand and Arthur moved away in respect or caution, he didn't know. Something was telling him this wasn't a good idea, but they needed to make sure Merlin's magic was truly not an option.

As the spell crossed Merlin's mind, the space between his outstretched hand and the fire exploded with lightening. Merlin's hand jerked back with the spell's recoil, flying like a rag doll through the air, taking the rest of his body with him and pushing him harshly to the hard earth.

Arthur hissed compassionately. "At least we cleared that up."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said slowly. His hand was still shaking, but luckily no serious harm was done. It was a good sign that he didn't black out.

Arthur exchanged a worried look with Percival. "You have nothing to apologize for. We'll wait," Arthur decided at last. He hated to say it, but from his perspective, there was really nothing they could do but to wait till Merlin healed enough to rule his magic again. "Take some rest. We'll carry on in an hour."

"I'll take the watch," Percival offered himself, suggesting that Arthur should rest for a while as well. The king nodded. "Be careful."

"Come on, let's get you back," Arthur took Merlin's forearm to get him away from the smoking fire.

"Something's bothering you," Merlin whispered when Arthur lowered him down to the base of a tree, tightening the bandage around his ribs. "You are quiet. Percival doesn't even look at me..."

The knight was collecting firewood a few feet away from their position. Arthur looked in his direction with compassion. He sighed and licked his lips.

"It's Gwaine," he said, carefully looking into Merlin's uncomprehending face. "He stood up to Morgana," Arthur explained. He swallowed hard, realising that his own eyes were suddenly flooded with tears. His throat constrained. "He didn't have a chance."

Merlin stared blankly, his breath hitching silently. He thought he should cry, but no tears fell and he hardly felt the hollowing pain of loss that usually bore into his heart. Instead of everything he expected to feel, there was just emptiness. "I think I knew," Merlin said in the shortness of his breath. "I think I felt it."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said honestly, giving Merlin's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I know you were good friends," he added, standing up.

"What happened," Merlin urged, trying to make Arthur look in his eyes.

The king crouched down again, speaking slowly, carefully and with such kindness that it reminded him of Gaius's soothing voice. "The girl you treated, Eira-"

Merlin's heart sank at the mention of that name.

"Gaius managed to warn Guinevere before she could do any more harm, but... Gwaine felt responsible. Wanted to set things right."

Merlin closed his eyes shortly. It made sense. It was exactly what Gwaine would do.

"Rest now," Arthur whispered, once again squeezing the warlock's shoulder. He was glad Merlin didn't have more questions. Telling him that Gwaine was tortured to death wouldn't help anything, and he was determined to conceal the whole truth for as long as possible.

...

Merlin was staring into the fire, holding a piece of a roasted rabbit in his hand, but Arthur noticed he wasn't actually taking a bite. His eyes were dark with sorrow, but no tears fell. Merlin looked like a shadow of his usual self and Arthur knew he must have lost a few pounds in the past few days.

"The dark magic. How does it work?" Arthur asked, tearing Merlin out of his thoughts.

Merlin blinked at him in a surprise. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never..."

It was ironical. Merlin was permitted to talk about magic in front of Arthur, but suddenly he had nothing to say. He realised he didn't understand magic more than Arthur or Percival did. There was nothing special about him. Without his powers, he had nothing to offer.

"May I suggest something, sire," Percival said carefully when he returned to their camp. Merlin realised he must have been listening to their conversation. "You said that Mordred's sword and your sword were both forged in dragon's breath."

Arthur nodded shortly.

"Can't they react to each other somehow?" he asked simply.

Arthur frowned in confusion and looked at Merlin. "I carried my sword all the way to Avalon. It didn't seem to have any influence-"

"Yes, but you don't-"

"- have magic," Merlin finished Percival's sentence, his glassy eyes leaving the fire and resting on Percival. He swallowed and put the untouched rabbit on the ground, still processing the idea.

"That might actually work," Merlin confirmed. He knew that there was a difference between things made with the help of magic and things created out of magic. Arthur's sword carried magic so strong it became the sword itself. And such an artefact could become a never-ending source of magic.

"It might be able to quicken the healing," Merlin explained. His voice was filled with a hope and enthusiasm that had become rare in the past few days. He gave Percival a short grateful smile, beckoning Arthur to hand him his sword.

"It's just like you said, Percival. It's filled with Kilgharrah's magic," Merlin explained, looking at the sword lying in his lap, lightly touching the engraving on it with his fingers. "Magic that opposes the dark magic of Mordred's sword."

"Merlin," Arthur stopped him, "you just proved that using magic is a complete madness. If the spell goes wrong..." he went silent, trying not to imagine what would happen. The healing was bad enough the way it was.

Merlin knew what Arthur meant. He believed that the pain in his side was caused by the piece of Mordred's sword moving towards the entrance of the wound under the influence of Kilgharrah's enchantment. What he was planning to do was to enhance the magic to repel the piece of dark magic more quickly. He didn't need to think hard to imagine what the most possible result of such an action would be.

"It's worth a try," Merlin said eventually, though Arthur recognized that the look in his eyes didn't quite match the conviction in his voice. He didn't need to be healed completely. All he needed was to get the piece that was influencing his magic out of his body. "Besides, I'm not really planning to cast."

Arthur and Percival exchanged confused looks.

"I can feel the power of the sword just like I can feel the magic of nature," Merlin said lightly. "My magic and the magic of the sword can become one. I don't have to do anything. It will take its course."

Arthur stared at him for a moment. "Merlin-"

"If it doesn't work, we can try the waiting strategy," Merlin gave Arthur a hesitant smile and grabbed the hilt of the sword firmly in his right hand, leaving the blade resting on his left palm. He focused on breathing and perceived the little vibrations of the magic in his hands.

Nothing happened at first. But after several long minutes, he managed to create a stable connection with the ancient magic of the sword. He felt his own magic strengthening and trembling under the power of the weapon. His hands shook and he clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from clattering. It wasn't painful, but it felt very close to it.

His body felt lighter and warmer as the magic kept spreading through his veins. It was almost like coming back to his normal self, a strange combination of familiarity and rightfulness that made him feel safe.

Suddenly he hissed and his hands released the weapon. Wavering, Merlin gave out a long exhalation as his limp body fell to the ground, and he moved no more.

Percival took the sword and put it next to Merlin's body. The warlock looked half asleep, his eye-lids trembling slightly. "Was that supposed to happen?" the knight asked.

"I don't know," Arthur admitted, trying to provoke some reaction from Merlin by placing a hand on his forehead. He cursed in his mind. If only he knew how magic worked, if only he had someone to ask, to reassure him that it was all right.

"We'll just have to wait," he decided after a while, holding onto the regularity of Merlin's breathing. As long as there was breath in his lungs, there was nothing to worry about, after all.

...

Arthur found Percival in a deep sleep when he returned to the camp. Merlin turned his head slightly when Arthur knelt down to check on his state. His eyes were open but Arthur could see that in the depth there was pain and resignation. Merlin wasn't fighting anymore, as if his body was no longer responding to the wound and the torturous healing. He was calm, his skin turned from white paleness to gray and green. His breaths were shallow and heavy, as if there was something holding him on the very edge of death and life, but Merlin couldn't make himself care anymore. Maybe he didn't want to care.

Arthur prayed they hadn't made a mistake.

"Merlin-" he moved above him, locking his gaze with the blackness in Merlin's eyes, desperate to read anything that could help him to understand what was going on. He took Merlin's head in his hands, trying to give him something to connect his world with reality. Merlin's eyes were indifferent and he didn't even blink when Arthur repeated his name a second time.

Once again, Arthur found himself torn between his trust in Merlin and his own instincts. He doubted the Great Dragon and he cursed the neckerchief that forced them to undergo a journey full of pain, insecurity, and blind trust.

But he knew that if Merlin could talk, he wouldn't let Arthur take the neckerchief off. And maybe that's what it was all about. Not about trusting the Dragon, but respecting his friend.

"Merlin," Arthur said again. He would bet that Merlin wasn't even aware of his presence and yet, he was the one Merlin's gaze couldn't leave. Even if his eyes were dead, they managed to lock with something that gave him a direction.

It was ironical that when Merlin's groans ceased, Arthur would have given everything to hear them again, to see him move or at least blink. Anything, but this horrible silence. Because he could see that Merlin was in pain, maybe more than before, only now he couldn't express it.

"You have to come back to me, Merlin," Arthur whispered, his own voice strained with fear and frustration. "You have to hold on," he said slowly and tenderly. It wasn't an order, it was a wish.

He knelt beside Merlin's prone body, holding his head and looking in his eyes, repeating the words again and again. It seemed endless. All the details he could suddenly recognize in Merlin's face, the little wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes, the slight quivering of his upper lip whenever he sucked air in. His eye-lids trembled slightly in a weak sign that there was still life in his body.

Percival shifted in his sleep, tearing Arthur from his thoughts.

Arthur's head dropped on his chest, he took a few deep breaths and stood up. He had to accept that there was nothing he could do, but wait. He looked at the knight again, who seemed to be in a deep sleep. At least Percival had found some peace for a while.

...

Darkness surrounded him. He was sure his eyes were wide open, desperately seeking any kind of light or movement, but there was only an endless void. He could have been blind, or perhaps there was simply nothing to be seen. It was cold. Horribly cold.

The tips of his fingers were trembling, but not from the cold or fear. There was something different there, tender waves that were slowly permeating his body and filling it with warmth and energy.

There were voices. Muffled and subdued whispers merging with sharp and urgent screams. Some of them were distant and shattered as if they came from underwater, others loud, but unclear all the same, distorted by ringing echoes that followed.

He could think and he could hear, but he couldn't move or talk or see.

There was his consciousness that held the knowledge of who he used to be, but it was separated from the rest of him. He was strangely helpless and still. He remembered how life tasted, and the state he found himself in couldn't be more distant from it. The memory of Arthur's sword in his hands seemed too old, but it was the most recent image he recalled, and the atmosphere of the forest still lingered in his mind, like the trace of strawberries in his mouth.

He was dead.

Or he was dying. It was as close to non-existence as he could imagine. He knew he would be dead once his consciousness broke off completely, once the memories faded away along with the sour taste of strawberries.

He heard Arthur's laugh. The mocking kind.

And things didn't matter quite as much as they used to.

He felt small. Exposed and lonely, and his sense of vulnerability was growing and overshadowing the peace and composure he held in his heart.

He felt younger than he had ever felt in his life. An old, familiar fear started to creep through him, feeding his mind with frightening scenarios. He used to be so afraid of night and darkness as a child, and suddenly he remembered why.

Anything could happen. The predictable didn't exist.

He felt like an opened wound which was about to be filled with salt.

And he could do nothing to protect himself. He couldn't hide or run.

A slight pressure on his shoulder and the cold voice in his head was all he had. It was strangely comforting, horrible and somehow painful, but still it was some comfort. He welcomed it and drank from its depths like a man drinks water after a week spent in a desert.

"I'm dead," Merlin admitted, and the threads binding him to life snapped. The pull he hadn't been aware of until now disappeared. His heart urged him to think of his father, but his mind focused on his mother only, and no matter how hard he tried, it seemed impossible to keep them both.

 _"We are all dying, Emrys. You should know that."_

Merlin would turn around if he could. _"Iseldir?"_ he thought. It was strange to hear his own voice in his head.

 _"We know, Emrys. We know what happened at the lake and we know about the army marching on Camelot. We've been trying to warn you, but without success. Listen to us and do as we say. Together, we can save your kingdom."_

Merlin's heart immediately filled with huge amount of gratitude, but it couldn't be that easy. There had to be an obstacle. _"My magic-"_

 _"We know how to help you, Emrys. It is important that you listen carefully now. The future of Albion lies in your hands."_


	8. In the Shadow of an Oak

I would like to thank you all for reading and commenting. This is the longest chapter of this story. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 8 - In the Shadow of an Oak

Merlin's eyes cracked open. He was lying on his back on the same spot where he fainted and some stones or roots were bruising his lower back. Arthur was sitting at his right side, eyes hidden in his palm while the other hand rested on Merlin's shoulder. He looked worn and tired and he didn't notice that the warlock had awoken. For a while they were both still like statues, and Merlin knew he should let Arthur known he was conscious again, but a part of him wanted to stay silent for a little longer, listening to the comforting sounds of the woods.

"Arthur-"

The king looked at him in an instant. His eyes were red and small and he breathed out in obvious relief.

"Surely, you weren't crying," Merlin mocked.

"You'd wish. I just yawned. Watching you sleeping around all the time is becoming somehow contagious."

Merlin smiled. "I didn't sleep and you certainly didn't yawn."

"Have you been watching me?" Arthur said reproachfully, frowning.

"If you had yawned, you would know," Merlin retorted and grabbed Arthur's shoulder for support, sitting up with a silent grunt. "Druids can help us," he said shortly, almost stopping himself mid-sentence. There was a possibility he'd been just dreaming, after all.

"Druids?"

"We'll build a wall," Merlin added, rising his eyebrow in disbelief.

...

"We need to draw a line for the Druids to know where to aim their magic," Merlin explained when Percival returned to their camp. He got up on his legs, leaning slightly on an old oak. He looked up into its crown and put both hands in front of him on the bark. "This one should suffice."

"For what exactly?" Percival stepped forward.

"Percival, I need you to head south," Merlin carried on, ignoring the knight's question, "take Arthur's sword and run as fast as you can. Try to find a large tree, old and huge, at least two miles from here. Arthur, to the north. Same for you-"

"Wait a minute," Arthur interrupted, frowning in disbelief. "A wall isn't enough, Merlin. They are prepared for a siege, they carry ropes... ladders. Do you really think a wall can stop them?"

"It's not a simple wall," Merlin informed him. "We'll build it with magic."

Arthur took time to process that. It didn't make much sense to him. He looked at Percival for support, but the knight's face was expressionless.

"What about the outer villages?" Arthur asked. "The army's already halfway through the kingdom. If we put a wall here, we'll sentence them to death."

"Iseldir sent help there," Merlin responded with confidence.

Arthur frowned. He had a strong feeling that Merlin was missing something crucially important. The idea of relying on magic so heavily seemed unwise and reckless by itself. But Merlin's condition didn't allow him to defend himself by magic or by sword, and that troubled Arthur the most. Even though he welcomed help, he wasn't ready to think that such a dire situation was solvable simply by magic tricks done from a distance by some druids. It was absurd. He couldn't believe that Merlin would even consider it as an option.

"No, Merlin," Arthur suddenly raised his voice without intending to. "This is madness. They could have sorcerers in their ranks. I cannot allow this," he said strictly, taking an involuntary step towards the warlock.

Merlin nodded in silent understanding, but Arthur could see he was trying to find the words to say something important. "Iseldir believes, that Kilgharrah's sacrifice strengthened my powers. That his magic now flows in my veins and that's why I can't cast. Because I'm not used to controlling such magic."

Something told Arthur that he shouldn't believe a single word Merlin was saying. "Iseldir? At first, it was the Dragon and now a Druid you've never met before?"

Merlin bit his lip but said nothing.

It was Percival who broke the heavy silence, somehow reconciled with Merlin's plan. "You said to the south?"

Merlin nodded.

"An oak?" the knight asked.

"Any tree should work as long as it's the oldest in the area."

Percival nodded and looked at Arthur. His hesitation was obvious, but after a moment Arthur sighed and exchanged his sword with the knight, giving him a final permission to do what Merlin was asking.

"What's the sword for?" Percival turned to Merlin.

"For the druids to locate you. They need something magical."

"What would I have, then?" Arthur frowned, the question marked with persistent reluctance.

"You don't need anything. And please don't ask me why."

Merlin's confidence was overwhelming and there was something incredibly sad about the way he said the last sentence. Arthur still remained unconvinced, but he no longer questioned. It was either attempt to carry out Merlin's plan or wait helplessly for Lot's army, and hope was a better currency than fear.

"One more thing, Percival," Merlin turned to the knight again, "once it's finished, head further along the wall to the south. The druids are coming our way and they will be expecting you. We'll join you later."

The knight nodded and with a last brief look at Arthur he left.

"To the north, then," Arthur said in resignation when Percival's silhouette disappeared among the trees.

Merlin gasped, placing his hand on the wound. He must have gotten over-excited. He looked at Arthur, but there was nothing on his face, neither compassion nor anger. His face was hard as stone and remote as a face of a stranger. Without further comment, he left Merlin alone.

With his companions gone, Merlin dropped to his knees from the suddenly awoken pain in his side. He couldn't hold back the gasps that were impatiently gathering in his throat. He knelt by the old oak and waited for Iseldir's instructions, praying for the pain to subside a bit.

 _"It is time,"_ Iseldir's voice echoed in his mind. _"Remember what I told you. Cast the spell and let us guide your magic."_

"I'm ready," Merlin whispered, though his breath was shaky with the persistent pain. He placed both of his hands on the oak and waited, with his head bent down.

 _"Now, Emrys."_

Ancient words left his mouth, heavy and powerful, making his throat sore. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance without the druids. All that was currently in his power was to ignite his magic, to allow access to the Druids to actually use it.

 _"Let go!"_ Iseldir urged him.

Suddenly the spell awoke something inside him, a part of him he didn't know about, like a new limb or a sixth sense. There was magic from the Druids inside him, trying to pull out his own powers, but something was holding it inside, preventing it from being released. Merlin shook with the reverse forces, the wound in his side exploding with a new kind of pain.

"It's not working!" he shouted through his clenched teeth. "It's not-" he gasped, placing a hand on his burning side. Then the realisation hit him. He knew what to do to make it work. And he knew Arthur wouldn't like it.

...

Arthur halted impatiently on the spot, panting heavily after the run. He found a maple, not older than Merlin's oak, but old enough to know it was a mother tree. A part of him wanted to believe that Merlin was right and his plan would work. But the other part, way bigger, was painfully aware of the fact that magic wasn't involved in any war tactics he knew.

Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was a part of the huge illusion he'd been living in since the moment Merlin stepped into his life. He looked at Percival's sword. It was fine work, but still, it was an ordinary sword, one of many made for the knights of Camelot. Nothing like his sword that he'd pulled out of a huge stone in the middle of the woods, in front of his most trusted knights and friends.

It was a physical evidence of his blindness and hypocrisy and it was there for everyone to see.

He placed a hand on the tree like Merlin had before, waiting in the silence and solitude.

It didn't take long until a strange vibration washed over him, spreading through his arm straight into the core of his body. He stepped back when the ground moved where he stood. There was a subdued tearing sound coming from somewhere deep inside the earth, like a cracking ice on a frozen lake. A second later the tree moved, as if taking a breath after a long sleep. The branches lifted as a gust of wind blew upward and then, they slowly sank toward the ground again.

It stopped as quickly as it had started.

Arthur turned around, not able to imagine what to expect, his loud breathing echoing in the impatient silence of the woods. He waited, cautious, hand resting on the hilt of the sword, not really caring how silly he might have looked. It wasn't that he wanted to fight a tree, nor was he planning to defend himself in case one of them attacked. But in the completely bizarre situation, knowing he had a sword in his hand gave him a slight feeling of security and control.

When the trees started to move again, Arthur lost his composure and instinctively drew the sword. He watched the ground being torn apart as the roots emerged from the clay. Some of them slid out slowly, others shot from the ground like lashes, flying through the air in a tangled chaos to interlace with the roots and branches of other trees. A strong wind came out of nowhere and Arthur ducked when one of the roots swished above his head, sending a rain of clay, twigs and pine needles on his head and shoulders.

It seemed endless and Arthur didn't know where to look first out of curiosity or caution. He needed to take a deeper breath, but the air filled with a heavy smell of clay and dust made his throat sore. Everything around him was captured in the storm of magic, tearing, breaking and screaming with incredible force. The gust that gathered the small stones and branches in a huge swirl almost took his breath away.

When another lashing root hit him across his ribs, Arthur realised that perhaps it wasn't the greatest idea to stay so close. He wondered whether the spell itself was supposed to be so violent, or whether it was Merlin's personal addition, his hidden anger that finally found an opportunity to storm itself out.

He turned around in shock as a long shadow fell over him, only to witness the trees forming into a row with no beginning and no end. The sounds intensified as if hell itself was raging under the earth.

Arthur didn't realise he was holding his breath in bewilderment. He stood almost frozen in the middle of a whirlwind. There was nothing to compare it to. As the trees shifted to join the growing wall, completely ignoring his presence, he felt like he was in the middle of a raging battle with no means to protect himself. The noise was almost deafening and he instinctively covered his ears with both hands. Soon he learned it was a mistake. Being rid of one of his senses, a flying root kicked his legs, sending him sprawling on the ground. He coughed, realising he had dust in his mouth and eyes and probably in his ears, too.

He looked up. The trunks were pressed together like pieces of a puzzle, tied with the roots and branches as if they were always meant to be this way, growing into each other through the years. It was obvious a blade would not be able to cross from one side to another. The air above the wall was slightly blurred and Arthur knew that the defense didn't end there, that Merlin's magic reached the sky itself.

Soon there were last echoes and a quiet creaking of wood, slowly turning into silence, exhausted and peaceful like the all-embracing stillness after a storm. It was over.

Arthur got up on his legs, looking at the earth scarred with holes and furrows. Leaves and small twigs were still slowly falling from the skies and the place where the woods used to be so dense looked almost like a freshly ploughed field. Holding his breath, he walked over to the wall, carefully placing his palm on it. It felt like a living thing, warm and still, but somehow moving and alive, sending little vibrations through his fingers.

He smiled in awe. Merlin had done this, and Arthur suddenly heard Gaius's words in his head, almost like an echo of a long-forgotten prophecy. His servant was the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.

He couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped his mouth, honest and relieved. He shook his head to get rid of the clay and leaves, took a few huge breaths to calm himself down, and immediately headed back to Merlin.

...

The journey back took him a little longer than he expected. Running was not an option in such a uncongenial place. Some of the furrows were so deep and wide that passing through them was almost impossible. There were thick roots sticking out of the ground and fallen branches he stumbled over. By the time he returned to his servant, his boots were heavy with mud.

Merlin was sitting on his heels at the old oak, small and unmoving. His back and hair were covered with clay, but as far as he could see, Merlin wasn't even half as dirty as Arthur, whose face almost disappeared under the thick layer of clay and dust. Actually, when he thought about it, he must have look like a bog-man, as Gwaine would certainly have pointed out.

"I must say I'm impressed," Arthur said proudly, and once again placed his hand on the wall in front of the warlock.

"Merlin?" he quieted his excitement a bit, surprised that Merlin didn't share his happiness. He looked like he barely noticed Arthur's presence.

"Are you in pain?" he crouched down in front of the kneeling man, all the excitement suddenly forgotten. The warlock was pale. His breath was regular and calm, actually calmer than Arthur thought was normal.

"No," Merlin answered in a breathless gasp, turning his tired eyes on the king. He wasn't in pain anymore.

"What's wrong?" this time Arthur felt as if death itself breathed on the nape of his neck. Merlin was deadly pale and there was something in his eyes that Arthur had never seen before with him. Reconciliation and peace, a certain kind of indifference and awareness of finality.

"Merlin, talk to me," Arthur said with a strong voice and grabbed Merlin's shoulders in a firm grip.

"I failed," Merlin gasped, a tear rolling down his cheeks as he blinked.

"You didn't fail. You've built the wall and saved Camelot," Arthur opposed, uncomprehending. "Come on, Merlin. Look at me."

The warlock was almost completely limp. His eyes showed he knew something Arthur couldn't currently understand. Instinct told him to reach down to the wound. There was new blood there.

"Where is it," he asked, stricken when he realised the neckerchief was gone.

"'t's all right," Merlin moaned. He took Arthur's hand off of his side, squeezing it between his slick hands in a reassuring gesture and Arthur realised that in that moment Merlin was too far gone from reality. He'd tasted the sweetness on the edge of life and death where nothing ever mattered because nothing hurt there anymore. Arthur knew it, because he'd been there just a few days ago, lying in Merlin's arms and counting the last breaths before the end.

"What happened to the neckerchief," Arthur repeated, squeezing back, but remaining persistent. Merlin seemed completely lost. He no longer believed he could be saved.

"Please-," the warlock only swallowed through the lump in his throat.

Realising Merlin was not going to tell him where the neckerchief was, Arthur got up and quickly scanned the surroundings. It must be somewhere around, under the leaves or the in the lumps of clay disrupted by the roots. It was dark red. He shouldn't miss it.

"I won't let you give up a fight that's already been won," he said, though he knew that Merlin couldn't hear him. After a few endless moments of running around, Arthur became desperate. It couldn't just have disappeared.

He went back to Merlin, crouching down. "You must remember," he urged on, relieved that Merlin's eyes were still open and present with him. "You must tell me now."

Arthur could only stare blankly at the form in front of him. It wasn't Merlin anymore. Merlin would never admit defeat like this. It couldn't have been the same person who so stubbornly refused to give up on him even when he was dead. Always keen to help and sacrifice himself for others, it seemed impossible that Merlin could be so reckless when it came to his own life.

As panic started to creep through his insides, a drop of water fell on his forehead. He looked up only to see the neckerchief was above them, hanging on a twisted branch, and still sparkling with a fresh blood. He quickly got up, trying to use the wall to climb to the neckerchief, but it always gave way under him. Of course, he thought. It must be protected by some kind of enchantment that would prevent the mercenaries from getting to them.

Using Percival's sword, he finally managed to reach the branch, and the neckerchief fell heavily into his hands, so soaked and dripping with blood that it seemed as if the fabric itself was bleeding. He hoped it was a sign that the magic was still present in it.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Merlin under his arms and laid him on his back on the ground. Merlin groaned in protest and weakly tried to push Arthur's hands off his side. There was still the old bandage tied with firm knots around Merlin's torso and Arthur cursed silently at the state of it, blaming himself for tying it so tightly. It obviously didn't serve its purpose when the neckerchief had slipped out so easily, but now it seemed impossible to untie, especially when the dried blood turned the material rough and unyielding, and now Merlin's clumsy fingers were trying to stop him from putting the neckerchief back.

"Stop it," Arthur warned him, through teeth clenched in anger and frustration. He grabbed Merlin's wrists and laid them on his chest. "I'm not leaving you like this," he said with a hollow voice, too surprised and too confused with Merlin's reaction to make up a valid argument. Time was ticking.

He swallowed and once again grabbed Merlin's hands that were hindering his attempts to untie the knots. His voice wasn't shaking, at least not as much as his breath. The servant gave out a desperate whimper as tears escaped his half-closed eyes.

"I won't let you die," Arthur tried to make Merlin see that he understood, but he couldn't really tell if Merlin was listening, if he could or even wanted to. "Can you imagine what my life would be like if I returned without you?" he asked, fighting both with the bandage and Merlin's restless fingers. Even though Merlin wasn't strong enough to actually push Arthur away, he was being quite efficient with slowing him down.

"Guinevere would have me sleeping on the floor for the rest of my life. Gaius's eyebrow would haunt me in my dreams forever. Did you know I was afraid of him when I was a boy? Oww!" Arthur hissed when Merlin's elbow collided with his ribs. He cursed again, thinking about cutting the knots with a knife, but Merlin's fingers were too unpredictable to make that an option.

"Not to mention you," he carried on, "you would give me a really hard time, wouldn't you? Your ghost spooking me in the night, taking my pillows and throwing goblets at my head while laughing like a crazy jester."

Merlin seemed weaker by the time Arthur finally untied the two knots. His eyes rolled into his head a few times and Arthur wondered if he was actually losing consciousness or he just couldn't stand Arthur's endless rambling.

"Come on, you stubborn idiot," Arthur was panting and his hands were trembling. He grabbed the neckerchief in his hand, not really knowing how to proceed. He didn't want to fight with his friend. It would certainly make things easier, but manhandling Merlin seemed too humiliating for both of them. But at the same time, he didn't have the impression that there was time to spend trying to talk some sense into the warlock.

"Are you with me?" he asked, folding the fabric in his hands. Merlin was only half conscious, but when the blood seeped through Arthur's fingers and dropped on the wound, the warlock suddenly woke again and pushed both of his clenched hands against Arthur's chest.

"Why-" Arthur asked impatiently, dropping the neckerchief and holding Merlin's wrists in a firm grasp, "why would you give up now, Merlin, hmm? After everything you've done, everything you've been through? Why would you do this now?"

Arthur stared into his eyes, reading the answer that shone there. Merlin had been in constant pain for almost three days now. He'd fought in a horrible battle. He'd faced his greatest fear to reveal his secret. He'd watched Arthur die and sacrificed a Dragon who - as Arthur understood - was almost like a friend to him, only to bring Arthur back to life. It was Merlin who'd been forced to kill Morgana. All the while he hadn't eaten properly, he hadn't slept and now he'd exhausted himself completely to build a wall large enough to overshadow the sun.

No, Arthur realized. Merlin didn't want to die. He wanted to rest for a while, which wasn't possible with the damn neckerchief pressed to his side.

"It won't take long now," Arthur's voice was soft and quiet. He decided to negotiate, quite surprised that he was now defending Kilgharrah's questionable healing technique. He couldn't know how long it would take, but if the neckerchief was supposed to heal and not to kill, the ending must be near.

Merlin's breath shook and he blinked fiercely through the tears, but he didn't look at Arthur, his head pushed to the side toward the trees without really focusing on them. Arthur didn't know if there was something that had caught his attention, or if it was just Merlin's way of telling him that he refused to be part of anything Arthur was about to do. He feared the latter was the truth, because even though Merlin wasn't fighting anymore, his clenched hands lying on his chest looked quite defensive to Arthur.

He sighed. His hands were bloodied and even though it was quiet, he could almost hear as Merlin and everything around reached to him with a silent cry for help. And he knew he could do it. It would be easy to put the neckerchief in his pocket and give his friend a few moments of a precious sleep. It would be easy. Or at least, it would be if it was Arthur's choice to make.

Because Merlin had already solved this.

His servant, although wounded and exhausted, had been coherent enough to make Arthur swear that the neckerchief would stay on the wound until he healed. He knew exactly that such a promise would soon become vitally important for both of them.

Before he could carry out his plan, a wave of cold air ruffled his hair, making him to look up. Grey mist rolled toward them, spreading like fire smoke between the trees until it reached them and covered the ground.

"What the hell-" Arthur whispered. He wavered as he rose to find a reasonable explanation. It could have been a part of the druid's magic or a result of Merlin's actions. Merlin had told him, that his magic could act on its own accord, even when he was unconscious or asleep. Either way, Arthur couldn't see any sense in it.

He looked at his friend briefly and involuntarily grabbed the sword again. Merlin's eyes suddenly flashed with gold. A second later there was a dull thud somewhere behind him, and he turned instantly. The wall was moving, pulsing with some strange force. It looked like golden waves on the sea, accompanied by subdued crumbling sounds. Arthur realized that the wall was under attack.

He looked back at Merlin, but warlock didn't seem to be disturbed by what was happening, still staring towards the trees like he'd done before.

For a short breathtaking moment, Arthur thought that the person walking towards him was Morgana. She had the same long, raven-black hair and ivory skin, her eyes were wide and deep, full of kindness and compassion. She smiled, although the smile was short and sad. She reminded Arthur of the person Morgana used to be many years ago. Even her dress seemed familiar.

She tread softly towards them and the blowing sounds from the wall subsided. Arthur was captured by her beauty. She couldn't be a creature of this world. She was translucent and her skin shone like pearls. Arthur shook as the memory of Dorocha came to his mind. The air grew colder with every step she took and he thought that maybe she was there to take Merlin away from him.

Arthur remained unmoving, paralyzed, when she knelt down beside Merlin. For the first time since she appeared, Arthur looked at the warlock. He wasn't sure whether Merlin recognized her, but he became undoubtedly calmer and the marks of the long-lasting pain and sorrow completely disappeared from his face. In fact, Merlin looked almost happy to see her, smiling with his tired eyes.

She leaned forward, gently placing a hand on the warlock's brow, whispering something into his ear. Arthur didn't hear a single word, but he didn't feel the urge to make himself understand. It was a strange atmosphere of peace and safety that she spread around herself. Somehow, he knew she wasn't there to harm them.

Slowly, she took the neckerchief from Arthur's hand and placed it on the wound. She lifted her head to face Arthur and he realised that Merlin hadn't made even the slightest sign of protest. She took Arthur's hand also and without any words covered the neckerchief with it and held it there for a moment. Shivers ran down Arthur's spine at the coldness of her skin, but he understood the importance of her actions and pressed his hand firmly, holding his breath in shock and awe.

Still holding her hand over Arthur's, she once again leaned down to Merlin, whispering a few more words. She placed a kiss on the warlock's forehead before she stood up, giving Arthur one last reassuring smile. She disappeared like mist, merging with the blurred air around them.

She was gone.

Arthur didn't know what had just happened. For a moment he wasn't even sure whether she was actually there at all. It could have been a dream. A hallucination. They were both exhausted enough for that.

Watching Merlin closely, he took the two ends of the bandage and tied them together again, securing the neckerchief in place.

The colour of Merlin's face changed almost immediately. He was still pale, but not deadly white and his breathing was slowly becoming faster and louder. Even though it still sounded far from healthy, it was the pace Arthur had become used to listening to in the past three days. He could already see a change in Merlin's eyes. The familiar shadow returned, bringing him back to life. But before could Arthur glimpse any sign of discomfort, Merlin's eyes closed and he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

...

Merlin couldn't say whether he was falling or flying. But he was sure he wasn't doing it alone and as long as it remained that way, it was quite all right. It was precise, slow and controlled and it gave him something to hold onto when his floating mind refused to stop turning. He felt steady breathing under his left ear and cheek and if he focused more, he could probably even hear a silent heartbeat.

His eyes cracked open, tired and swollen. His throat was dry and legs painfully weak as they dangled over Arthur's elbow. His hands were clenched on his stomach, fingers interlaced with each other and the fabric of his bloodied tunic. He was thirsty and he had a horrible headache.

"-fear- Gaius-," It was supposed to be a question but his tongue was so heavy it turned out only a confused mutter.

Arthur looked at him but didn't slow his pace. "Try again," he said.

Merlin licked his lips and swallowed to moisten his throat. "Why did you fear Gaius?" he groaned, the words languid. Breathing was becoming hard in his position.

Arthur chuckled. "I knew you were listening," he said.

"I wasn't," Merlin retorted, somehow breathless. "I woke up with it."

Arthur was silent for a while, weighing the words. "You know his focused face, when he's leaning over a book or when something bad happens?"

Merlin hummed in agreement.

"It was that strict look he occasionally wears. He used to be like that all the time. Especially when I was a kid, there was a time when we weren't that close. More than a friend, he was an authority to me."

"Gaius is nice and kind-," Merlin protested.

"Yes, once he speaks to you and smiles or puts his glasses on," Arthur explained lightly.

"I don't believe you," Merlin groaned sleepily, the idea of a young and strict Gaius impossible to imagine. "Gaius was always old and nice. Put me down."

Arthur stopped and sighed. "Well, Merlin, this time I'm actually happy to oblige."

Merlin's legs felt incredibly heavy once he'd anchored himself to the ground. Arthur still held most of his weight, but Merlin recognized that his friend needed to stretch his muscles too. He left Arthur and sat down on a nearby stomp, massaging the slowly retreating headache in his temples. "How long have you been walking?" Merlin asked.

"Not long," Arthur moaned as he pulled his arms above his head, making the joints crack. "I'm following Percival's trail. Any idea how far the Druids were?"

Merlin shook his head. "They were coming our way. They shouldn't be too far."

"How's your side?" Arthur handed him a water skin.

Merlin hesitated, a trace of shame taking his attention for a while. "Feels weird," he answered honestly and touched the bandage lightly. He still felt the depth of the wound, but instead of burning, there was something incredibly cold contrasting with the heat of his body and the warm blood from the neckerchief.

"Should I have a look?" Arthur asked after an impatient moment, recognizing the worry on the servant's face.

"I'm not sure," Merlin said. The bandage was too loose and if he wanted to walk, he needed to do something about it. "Don't want to put it back again," he explained. He took a few sips of water and gave the skin back into Arthur's hands.

"Let me have a look," Arthur offered, recognizing the hesitance in his friend's eyes. "I might have been a bit rushed back then."

Merlin fell silent when Arthur knelt to him to adjust the bandage and tighten the knots. He held his breath and avoided Arthur's eyes.

"Perhaps the Druids will know how to help you," Arthur encouraged him when he finished, sensing his growing unease.

Merlin pressed his lips together, wishing Arthur was right, but knowing that dragon's magic was far beyond their knowledge and powers. "Maybe," he said eventually, getting up on his legs again and gratefully accepting Arthur's help. He put his arm around his shoulders, but once he took a step, something fell on the ground in front of him, sparkling in the dimness like a drop of a morning dew.

"What is it?" Arthur asked in astonishment when Merlin slowly sank down on his knees and reached out for it. He realised his mistake when it touched his skin, hot and cold at the same time. He hissed and stared at it for a while, relieved but cautious.

Arthur knelt down, frowning. It didn't take long to figure out what had caught Merlin's attention so thoroughly. A triangle-shaped piece of metal lay on the moss, still partly covered with blood. It was the piece of the enchanted sword, that was once inside his own body and now it was repelled by magic from Merlin's chest as well.

They both breathed out in relief. Tearing another piece of his tunic, Arthur carefully grabbed the fragment. He put his other hand on Merlin's shoulder; the warlock remained frozen in the moment.

"I didn't give up," Merlin whispered breathlessly.

"Wha-," Arthur stopped himself, not entirely sure what was his friend referring to. "You don't have to explain."

The warlock looked up. "No... but I want you to know I didn't give up. I wouldn't leave you, not like this, not when there was still hope."

Arthur looked in his eyes, smiling fondly. "I know you wouldn't. It's time to move on," he suggested and helped Merlin to his feet again.

They didn't speak for the rest of their journey.


	9. Kilgharrah's Last Lie

Chapter 9 - Kilgharrah's Last Lie

"Emrys!"

Merlin had to cover his ears against the sharp, cold voice that pervaded his whole body and made his hair stand up. He'd heard it before, but he was sure it shouldn't have felt that unpleasant. They were suddenly surrounded by Druids with capes.

The silhouette standing closest to them took a step forward, revealing his face.

"Iseldir," Merlin said. Arthur turned to him immediately with a questioning look. Percival emerged from the crowd to join Merlin and Arthur.

But before Merlin could explain, the druid knelt in front of Merlin, Arthur and Percival and the rest of his people followed his example. Merlin grabbed Arthur's shoulder, trying to get a closer look at the man who'd helped him find Aithusa many years ago. He looked like he hadn't aged at all, white hair falling in his wrinkled face. He was still wearing the same gray tunic.

"Do I know you?" Arthur asked. He remembered that face, but he couldn't quite put it together.

"I was the one who placed the Cup of Life in your hands, Arthur Pendragon. We must speak to you, Emrys," Isedir said, his head bent in a humble gesture. "You have fulfilled what has been written since the dawn of time. The world has changed."

"Fulfilled?" Merlin asked.

He looked at Merlin and Arthur, who was still supporting his friend. Merlin felt weak. Actually, if he could, he would lean his head on Arthur's shoulder, pride and dignity be forgotten.

"However, a high price has been paid. The magic of this world is damaged," Isedir continued as he stood, ignoring Merlin's uncomprehending expression. "The circle has been broken. The threesome is incomplete. Our seers are blind. We can no longer see the future."

Merlin took a time to process what Isedir said. "You can't use magic?"

"Our powers are weakened. Strength is no longer with us."

Merlin could feel Arthur's gaze on him. He wished he could explain, but Iseldir's words made no sense to him either, reminding him only of Kilgharrah and his riddles. His words seemed familiar, but Merlin could barely focus his senses on anything. Strength was-

"Gwaine..." Merlin whispered when he finally remembered, looking at the druid inquiringly.

Iseldir nodded. "The passing of Sir Gwaine wasn't part of any prophecy known to us. But his death changed the course of events."

Merlin didn't follow. How could Gwaine's death change what happened at the lake. It was true, that Kilgharrah hadn't mentioned his name in any of his prophecies, nor did the seers or the Triple Goddess.

"One of the prophecies," Merlin said slowly as something clicked in his head, "claimed, that I could not alter Arthur's fate. That it wasn't in my power."

Merlin played their last moments in front of his eyes again, trying to find clues between the words and looks, anything that would enlighten them. He knew, that if Gwaine was destined to die, he would have preferred to fall in a battle. And plunging into a fight with Morgana, especially without any support, meant a certain death. He remembered the moment outside the Crystal Cave when Gwaine had shaken Merlin's hand, as if he knew it was the last time they would be together.

"I thought it was Kilgharrah who sacrificed himself for Arthur," Merlin suddenly argued.

"The Great Dragon could have saved your life, Emrys, but it was not his soul that took Arthur's place in Avalon," Iseldir corrected him.

Something didn't feel quite right when Merlin once again thought about the Lake. Merlin had presumed that Kilgharrah's passing redeemed them both. He'd simply refused to admit that there was any more suffering needed.

"When you bring somebody back from the dead, the balance must be restored," Merlin noted, trying to explain it to Arthur and Percival.

Iseldir nodded slightly.

"Gwaine's life for Arthur's," Merlin added. It was merely a whisper, but Arthur's body shook with the words. The sins of his father were one thing. But it was his own indecisiveness and lack of will to set the rules for magic for once and for all, that had cost lives of many innocent people. If he had listened to his conscience and made peace with the druids and sorcerers soon after he became the king, he could have spared many lives and a lot of suffering. Including everyone who fell at Camlann.

He looked at Merlin, hoping that he would change his words, anything to take away the guilt and shame. But Merlin couldn't. Even in the dark night, he clearly recognized the deep pain in Arthur's eyes.

It made a perfect, yet bitter sense. When Merlin had tried to heal Arthur from the bite of the Questing Beast, it had been his mother and Gaius, the two people Merlin loved and held most dear, who'd been sentenced to die in Arthur's stead. Now Gwaine had become the victim of Merlin's desperate attempt to protect Arthur. That was why the many fallen knights and soldiers of Camlann could never have been enough. Sacrifice was a double-edged sword. If Merlin wanted to save Arthur, he had to suffer for it personally.

"Sir Gwaine's path was not revealed to us," Iseldir spoke again after a long impatient silence. He could feel the deep sorrow that engulfed the three of them and he sensed the need for encouragement. "His death broke the prophecy, Arthur. Without his sacrifice, Emrys wouldn't have been able to save you."

"But if he knew he had to die, why would he conceal it from us?" Percival posed the question quietly, with the familiar trace of betrayal in his voice. Why would Gwaine willingly suffer so much. The only privilege he'd allowed himself was that Percival accompanied him on his journey to death. He couldn't imagine how heavy such a burden must have been, especially when Gwaine had decided to keep it to himself.

"There are things beyond the knowledge of prophets, and secrets that aren't supposed to be known to a man. Not everything in this world happens because it is written in the Book of Life," the druid said.

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't help but feel betrayed - by Gwaine, by Kilgharrah, by himself. He wondered, if he had considered Percival or Gwen or somebody else as his closest friend, whether it would have been that person to die for Arthur. Anger engulfed his body. Kilgharrah must have known. And he must have remembered that years ago he managed to save Arthur along with his mother and Gaius. How could he be sure that this time, there was nothing Merlin could do to save everyone as well?

He swayed a bit. It was more difficult to keep his balance with closed eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur warned.

"Sorry," the warlock whispered as he opened his eyes again.

"Merlin needs rest," Arthur decided. He understood that they would probably never find out the circumstances of Gwaine's passing, nor would they ever know if he knew about the part he played in the future of Albion.

Iseldir nodded and bowed. "We will meet again, Arthur."

Arthur looked at him, confused, but it took only a heartbeat to realise he was right. They would definitely meet again. He nodded.

"Wait," Merlin said urgently. "What happened to your magic?"

"There is a scar in the flow of time, that separates the past from the days to come. We can't see the future," Iseldir explained.

"What does it mean?" Merlin asked.

Iseldir shook his head slightly. He didn't know.

The warlock smiled inside. It wasn't hard to imagine a world without prophecies, without attempts to change the course of his destiny, without fighting fate and without the words of prophets echoing in his head in a crazy turmoil...

"The future is in our hands, then," he said quietly. The prophecies never served any good anyway.

"There is one more thing, Emrys," Iseldir said with urgency. "One last prophecy."

Merlin turned around slowly, stopping in the middle of his turn. Something held him firmly in place as he realised he might choose not to hear what was about to be spoken. But then he looked at Arthur and he knew that he would never in his life fear prophecies any more. They had no power over him.

"Magic is dying," Iseldir said calmly, when Merlin finally faced him, "some of us can already feel it."

Merlin frowned.

"It will take thousands of years for magic to disappear from this world. But be aware, the day will come. Arthur's death had far more dire consequences than any one of us could have anticipated. The day is marked as the Day of Albion's greatest need."

Iseldir looked at Merlin as if he alone could possibly understand the words. Merlin's breath hitched in his throat but refused to show it, dropping his gaze.

When he looked up again, Iseldir was already gone.

...

Arthur woke up early to the cold morning breeze. Merlin and Percival were still asleep and since the sun was about to rise soon, Arthur decided to go to a nearby meadow to set his thoughts straight. The majestic silhouette of Camelot's castle emerged from the tree tops in the distance, still covered with the shadow of the dying night.

He thought about Guinevere, his knights and everyone who lived there. It was only now, when he looked at the stillness of the scenario, that he could feel how much he missed the place. He wasn't alone and despite the uncertainty of their future, his heart was filled with hope.

He relished the moment of peace and solitude, of reconciliation with himself; yet he knew it wouldn't last long. He could almost feel the barricade that held the enormous weight of the recent events, gathering them somewhere outside his body and mind. Returning to Camelot meant blowing up the wall and facing the consequences with the full responsibility of a king and a leader. Morgana's death buried the last bits of hope, that she will ever make peace with him. Merlin's magic and Gwaine's sacrifice proved that he never really had control over his life. And if he couldn't trust himself, he couldn't imagine a way his people would trust him.

A twig snapped behind him and he turned to see Merlin walking towards him. Arthur didn't comment that the warlock was not wearing his boots, refreshing his feet in the morning dew. He held the twig in his hands.

"Everything will change now, won't it," Arthur looked back at the castle; the tops already lighting up with the rising sun.

"Not everything," Merlin nudged him with his shoulder, captured by the beauty of the castle shining in the distance. "Not unless you want it to."

...

It was shortly before mid-day when Arthur, Merlin and Percival entered the Lower Town, immediately accompanied by its citizens. At first they were surprised, whispering to each other, not believing what they saw.

"It's the King!" one of them shouted, starting an avalanche of similar cheerful exclamations.

"The King has returned!"

"The King is alive!"

"Long live the King!"

Soon the people dared to come closer, some of them bowed, some knelt down and a few of them shook hands with Arthur.

The wave of victorious shouts reached the castle before Arthur, Merlin and Percival did. When they entered the main gate, there was already a gathering of knights and staff at the front courtyard. Guinevere stood at the top of the stairs, her impatient frown soon replaced by a smile. The moment she and Arthur noticed each other, she ran to him heedless of manners.

Merlin looked in the crowd for Gaius, but the physician surprised him from behind, patting his shoulder. Merlin quickly turned and gave his mentor a firm hug. There was no need of words and Merlin thought that maybe it was the first time that he finally allowed himself to breathe out properly.

They stood there long, surrounded by the cheering crowd. The citadel's bell rang across Camelot and further over the valleys and hills, spreading the news of the King's return.

Merlin was happy. It was a miracle and a great gift, that he managed to fulfil his destiny after all.


	10. New Perspective

Chapter 10 - New Perspective

Merlin went to the battlements after Gwaine's funeral. He wanted to be alone, far from people and the noise of life, and the place had proven itself to be the best choice many times before. It was late afternoon and he was tired. He'd promised Gaius that he would return to bed as soon as the funeral ended, but his hurting heart led him the opposite way, to one of the highest places in Camelot.

However, he didn't enjoy his solitude for long. Arthur soon came to join him. Whether he was sent by Gaius to check on him or whether they simply had the same idea, Merlin couldn't tell, but he was grateful. Something told him that they would be able to spend a moment in silence without feeling awkward or uncomfortable.

The king leaned on the battlements on Merlin's left side, and they stood there for a long time without saying anything.

"I miss him," the words left Merlin's mouth before he could stop himself. Everybody missed Gwaine. There was no need to say it aloud, and Merlin suddenly felt that it was almost inappropriate for him to break the silence with such an obvious statement.

"I miss him too," Arthur confirmed. They were both looking at the Lower Town, watching the people of Camelot returning to their houses. Soon there were candle lights shining from the windows, making the town look like embers in a lingering fire.

"When I woke up at the Lake," Arthur began suddenly, staring unfocused in the distance, "I was-" he swallowed hard, not able to find the right words to describe the exact emotion that had flooded his system. "I think I was missing something, but the missing was stronger than anything," he paused for a moment.

"It went away eventually," he carried on, "but I still remember how intense it was. It almost made me want to go back." He blinked at Merlin shortly.

"Gwaine once told me," Merlin responded, "that the tragedy of death is in the distance it creates between people. Death separates us, but there is nothing frightening about it in the end. It's all right not to fear it, any more than you fear another step into the unknown. Because that's what death is, after all."

"Makes sense," Arthur said, "especially for Gwaine, I guess. All I know is that dying would be easier, if only a man could die alone," he whispered after a while, looking shyly in Merlin's eyes, as if he wasn't sure whether Merlin understood. But he did, and confirmed it silently.

"So...," Merlin bit his lip, "how does it feel to beat death?" He wasn't entirely sure whether he was supposed to ask such a question, but he knew that the old Merlin would certainly do that to the old Arthur, even if it was in the flow of his usual ramble, teasingly, with no expectation of hearing the answer. However, he was surprised by Arthur's thoughtful expression and the seriousness with which he approached the question.

"The truth is," Arthur looked at his hands, playing with the royal ring, "I feel like a stranger to this world now. As if I know something nobody else does, and no matter what words I use to describe it, no one will ever be able to understand," he admitted and looked on the horizon.

The setting sun turned everything around them into a mosaic of yellow, orange and black. Gold sparked in Arthur's eyes as if he'd just used magic to hold the sun up for a little longer. Merlin didn't want to interrupt his words. He was grateful that Arthur was willing to share the matters of his heart. So he just looked in the same direction as his friend, towards the setting sun, and waited.

"Sometimes it's lonely," Arthur carried on, "sometimes it's heavy. But mostly I feel privileged and grateful. Grateful to you."

Arthur turned toward Merlin and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, old friend."

Merlin would bet there were tears gathering in Arthur's eyes, if only for a moment before he blinked them away. The king nodded as a goodbye and turned to leave.

"So, no hugs?" Merlin couldn't help himself, he had to at least try. Something was telling him that such an opportunity shouldn't go to waste.

Arthur stopped before facing the warlock again, serious and unnaturally stiff. But then, he opened his arms slightly and took two steps towards Merlin.

"Come here," he said, smiling over the feigned seriousness of their situation.

Merlin was again taken by surprise with Arthur's reaction. He didn't hesitate and without further words, he sank into Arthur's welcoming arms and embraced him with all the strength he could muster. He almost felt like he was expected to say something silly to make his friend laugh, but he couldn't think of anything. But he smiled anyway, knowing that Arthur's attempt to fill the silence failed as well.

"Is there anything funny, Merlin?" Arthur asked after a while, using his typical warning, yet playful tone.

Merlin didn't respond at first, knowing that the laugh he was trying to stifle would be easily recognizable in his voice. He bit his lip when Arthur said his name a second time. He knew he'd failed when the high-pitched 'no', although somewhat subdued, gave him away. Merlin felt Arthur take a breath, possibly to reprimand him with some extremely clever comment, but the words never came. Instead, Arthur just tightened his embrace and Merlin's wide smile slowly left his face, leaving a warm feeling of peace and joy.

He couldn't hold back a wince when his arms rested at his sides again.

"What is it?" Arthur asked with concern. The warlock still wasn't completely recovered and Arthur could picture Gaius's reproachful face if something happened to his ward, particularly in Arthur's presence.

"Nothing, just a little scar," Merlin said.

"Ah," Arthur understood. "I have one too." There was a short silence. "Anyway, it's been a long day. We should eat something." Arthur was already turning to leave when he suddenly stopped himself and looked at Merlin with a mischievous smile. "We're not going to argue over who has a bigger scar, are we?"

Merlin blinked in surprise. "Of course not," he said, "Never. That would be stupid and beneath us in general."

"Good," Arthur breathed out in relief, "because just in case you're wondering, mine's bigger."

"That's not fair," Merlin argued, following Arthur down the stairs to the hall.

"And before you say anything, don't forget I'm the king of Camelot and now I'm also the only man who survived his own death," he warned.

"How could that count?"

"Because... it does! And you said you won't argue."

"I'm not- but still-"

"Merlin-"

"Yes?"

"Shut up!"

The End.

Epilogue

It took several council meetings to transcribe the new rules for practicing magic in Camelot, but after two months of preparations the ban was raised. Merlin and Gaius were the ones who had crucial influence on the new code. Merlin was named the court sorcerer, but after exactly three days of wearing official robes, Merlin put on his old clothes with the neckerchief and wore them for many years, until they grew too small for his figure.

Merlin was also made an advisor of King Arthur. Apart from the new duties, he still occasionally fulfilled his servant's chores, including waking Arthur up, bringing him breakfast and polishing his armour if needed. Arthur refused to hire a new servant, so Merlin was extremely busy when Gwen got pregnant and had to look after their newborn child.

Arthur and Guinevere had five children together, three sons and two daughters. Merlin became a godfather to all of them and watched them grow and learn until they were old enough to marry and have their own families. Together they united Albion, ruling in all of the five kingdoms.

He also decided to stay with Gaius in his old chamber. The only difference was a slightly more comfortable bed that Arthur had made for him. Merlin lived there until Gaius died, seven years after the battle of Camlann. Then, when Merlin took the position of the court physician as well, he permitted the old chambers to be rebuilt and newly equipped.

Merlin got never married. He remained faithful to Freya, who appeared often in his dreams. It was Arthur's idea to build a marble monument at the Lake at Freya's honour and Merlin often went there to talk to her. He always promised that they would soon meet again.

During the reign of Arthur and Guinevere, Camelot became a prosperous land where people lived with dignity and love toward their king. Merlin helped Arthur's firstborn son at the beginning of his reign of Camelot, advising him and supporting him in his decisions.

When Merlin recognized his time was nearing, he said his last goodbye to Aithusa. It was a decision they made together, that no matter how beautiful life is, no man and no magical creature should be forced to live forever without those he loved. Aithusa left in peace and with hope, believing that everything was as it was supposed to be.

Freya came for Merlin the day before his ninetieth birthday. She took his hand in his sleep and when he woke, the first thing he saw was her beautiful smile. Gaius stood next to her, as well as Arthur and Gwen, and they were all surrounded with the brightest light Merlin had ever seen.

...

After the battle of Camlann Arthur had the piece of Mordred's sword sealed into a golden coin, one side with a silhouette of a dragon and the other with the sign of the Old Religion. Along with Arthur's sword and Merlin's neckerchief soaked in the Great Dragon's blood, the three artifacts became the symbols of Camelot's golden age.

However, they were lost during the following centuries. The legend says that when Albion is in the greatest need, the Sword, the Coin and the Neckerchief will unite and magic will once again rule over the land.

* * *

So... another story finished!

I would like to thank you all for reading and commenting and for the great support and encouragement I received from you in the past few days. Also I shouldn't forget all the guests who had read and reviewed the story. Thank you!

Special thanks to the amazing author and beta-reader **writer501** for the work she'd done on this piece! Without her, you won't be reading this story, so go and check out her work!

And there are some more good news: angelique444 is translating the story into French! It might take some time, but... Hurrah!

Also if you're still sad about the Merlin finale, I would like to encourage you to read the scripts of Merlin6KingomCome. I can guarantee it would help. A bit :-)

Till the next time!

\- Grace


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